The  Instinct  of 
Step-fatherhood 

Bu  Lilian  Bell  <*  & 


// 


The  Instinct  of 
Step-Fatherhood 

By    LILIAN    BELL 

Author  of  "A  Little  Sister 
to   the    Wilderness"   etc. 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 

1898 


r 


By  LILIAN   BELL. 


THE  LOVE  AFFAIRS  OF  AN  OLD  MAID.    16mo,  Cloth, 

Ornamental,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Top,  $1  25. 

.  .  .  The  love  affairs  of  an  old  maid  are  not  her  own,  but 
other  people's,  and  in  this  volume  we  have  the  love  trials 
and  joys  of  a  variety  of  persons  described  and  analyzed. 
—Cincinnati  Commercial-Gazette. 
THE  UNDER  SIDE  OF  THINGS.  A  Novel.   16mo, Cloth, 

Ornamental,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Top,  $1  25. 

.  .  .  This  book  is  Miss  Bell's  best  effort,  and  most  in 
the  line  of  what  we  hope  to  see  her  proceed  in,  dainty  and 
keen  and  bright,  and  always  full  of  the  fine  warmth  and 
tenderness  of  splendid  womanhood. — Interior,  Chicago. 

FROM  A  GIRL'S  POINT  OF   VIEW.    With  a  Photo- 
gravure Portrait.    16mo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  25, 
Will  be  read  with  zest  by  every  one  who  loves  a  crisp 
and  graceful  writing.  .  .  .  Altogether  this  little  sheaf  of 
half-whimsical,  half-humorous  essays  will  afford  as  de- 
lightful an  hour  of  reading  as  any  person,  not  dull,  can 
desire. — Brooklyn  Eagle. 

A  LITTLE  SISTER  TO  THE  WILDERNESS.    A  Novel. 

New  Edition.    16mo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  25. 

The  writer  is  well  acquainted  with  the  life  and  habits 
and  dialect  of  the  West  Tennessee  bottoms,  and  her  story 
is  written  from  the  heart  and  with  rare  sympathy.  It 
is  valuable  because  it  shows  so  forcefully  the  peculiar 
phases  of  the  life  and  human  character  of  these  people. 
—Churchman,  N.  Y.  

NEW   YORK   AND   LONDON  : 
HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS. 


Copyright,  1898,  by  HARPER  & 
All  rights  reserved. 


TO 
MY  LOVELY  MOTHER 

whose  descent,  not  only  from  the  Pilgrim  Fathers, 
but  from  Plymouth  Rock,  enables  her  to  withstand 
my  frantic  appeals  when  she  is  minded  too  ruthlessly 
to  clip  the  wings  of  the  fledgelings  of  my  heart  and 
brain. 

Nevertheless,  to  her  extraordinary  critical  faculty 
do  I  owe  much  of  the  gentle  criticism  of  the  public, 
and  to  her  unfailing  tenderness  and  patience  do  I 
hereby  publicly  bear  witness. 


2061817 


CONTENTS 


THE  INSTINCT  OF  STEP-FATHERHOOD  ...  3 

A  STUDY  IN  HEARTS- 25 

THE  HEART  OF  BRIER  ROSE 75 

LIZZIE  LEE'S  SEPARATION gg 

MARY  Lou's  MARRYIN' 125 

THE  STRIKE  AT  THE  "  BILLY  BOWLEGS"    .  169 

A  WOMAN  OF  No  NERVES 203 


THE 
INSTINCT    OF    STEP -FATHERHOOD 


THE 
INSTINCT    OF    STEP -FATHERHOOD 


THEY  had  been  driving  along  the  big 
road  for  an  hour,  Miss  Cornelia  and  Fred 
Yarborough,  Miss  Cornelia  studying  her 
bank-book  with  a  perplexed  brow,  and  Fred 
watching  her  with  a  funny  imitation  of  her 
anxiety  on  his  small  square  countenance. 
And  finally,  when  Miss  Cornelia  closed  her 
book  with  a  deep  sigh,  Fred  fetched  one  so 
much  deeper  and  more  lugubrious  that  she 
turned  and  looked  at  him. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Fred  ?" 

Fred  cast  a  comprehensive  glance  at 
the  bank-book  held  daintily  in  one  of 
Miss  Cornelia's  small  hands,  and  said, 
"  Livin'  is  powerful  expensive,  ain't  it, 
Miss  C'nelia  ?" 


INSTINCT  OF   STEP- FATHERHOOD 

"  Well,  I  shouldn't  think  you  would  find  it 
so,  Fred." 

Miss  Cornelia  smiled  slowly.  Fred  gen- 
erally smiled  when  Miss  Cornelia  did,  but 
this  time  he  not  only  failed  to  respond  but 
sighed  again.  For  some  moments  they 
drove  along  in  silence,  Fred  occupied  with 
his  favorite  pastime  of  contemplating  the 
stubby  sunburned  hands  which  held  the 
reins,  and  comparing  them  with  Miss  Cor- 
nelia's. Of  course  Fred  knew — everybody 
knew— that  the  family  at  Arborvitse  were 
famous  for  the  symmetry  and  beauty  of 
their  hands  and  feet,  while  Fred  Yar- 
borough  was  man  -  of  -  all  -  work  for  Miss 
Cornelia  and  Miss  Caroline,  and  came  of 
a  family  whose  physical  attributes  seemed 
to  have  been  measured  by  a  carpenter's 
rule,  so  square,  so  flat,  so  uncompromising 
they  were. 

"Well -urn,  I  do.  I'm  just  lavishin' 
money  awn  myseff  these  days,  Miss  C'nelia. 
I  paid  a  dollar  and  a  half  for  these  very 
shoes,  and  I  owe  Mist'  Tarbell  three  dollars 
for  a  coat  that  I  'ain't  never  wo'e.  I- — I'm 
savin'  it." 


INSTINCT   OF   STEP- FATHERHOOD 

Fred  colored  so  through  his  freckles  that 
Miss  Cornelia  noticed  it. 

"  Well,  it's  for  you  to  say  whether  you  can 
afford  these  extravagances,  Fred." 

"  Well  -  um,  I'm  saving  in  other  di-r&c- 
tions.  I've  quit  chawin'.  It  ain't  right  for 
a  man  to  chaw  when  he  knows  he  is  settin' 
a  bad  example  for  childern." 

Fred's  steady  blue  eyes  met  Miss  Corne- 
lia's with  an  expression  of  manliness  in 
their  depths  which  struck  her  as  new.  He 
was  only  seventeen. 

"  But  all  your  mother's  children  are  girls, 
Fred." 

"  I  know  it,  Miss  C'nelia.  I  know  it 
mighty  well." 

"  How  many  are  there  now,  Fred  ?" 

"  I  got  'leven  little  sisters,  Miss  C'nelia. 
Yes'm.  All  girls.  I'd  give  a  heap  if  a  few 
of  'em  was  only  boys.  I  just  nachally  love 
boy  babies.  Looks  like  the  mo'  I  want 
boys  the  mo'  girls  is  sent  to  us.  We  got  so 
many,  Miss  C'nelia,  I  come  mighty  near 
bein'  sick  of  girls.  'Pears  like  we  ought  to 
have  had  one  of  'em  boys,  just  for  a  relish. 
But  Maw,  she  don't  care.  She  don't  seem 


INSTINCT    OF    STEP- FATHERHOOD 

to  hanker  after  boys  like  I  do.  She's  just 
as  well  satisfied  to  see  'em  all  girls.  But 
then  Maw  don't  care  much  what  happens. 
She,  being  a  woman,  don't  seem  to  be  able 
to  sense  her  "sponsibilities.  But  a  time 
comes  when  a  man  must  take  awn  other 
obligations  besides  them  that  he  was  born 
into.  I  don't  never  intend  to  turn  my  back 
entirely  awn  Maw,  but  I've  quit  chawin'  just 
the  same,  Miss  C'nelia." 

Miss  Cornelia  looked  puzzled. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  But,  Fred,  I  hope 
you  are  not  courting  any  of  these  girls 
around  here.  Remember,  you  are  only  get- 
ting eight  dollars  a  month,  and  that  loft  in. 
the  barn  is  no  place  for  a  bride." 

Fred  laughed  in  a  pleased  way. 

"Laws,  no,  Miss  Nely.  I  ain't. studyin' 
'bout  no  girl.'1'' 

As  a  Southern  woman,  Miss  Cornelia 
knew  that  at  seventeen  it  was  none  too  early 
to  warn  a  boy  from  matrimony.  Many  a 
one  is  well  settled  down  and  the  father  of  a 
family  at  nineteen. 

They  drove  in  at  the  gate  of  Arborvitas, 
the  fine  old  place  of  Judge  Peebles,  dead 
6 


INSTINCT  OF  STEP- FATHERHOOD 

and  gone  these  many  years,  which  was  with 
difficulty  kept  up  by  his  two  spinster  daugh- 
ters. 

Deep  fields  spread  far  away  to  the  right 
and  left  of  the  famous  arbor-vitas  hedge, 
whose  length  and  luxuriance  gave  the  place 
its  name.  Back  of  the  house,  with  its  great 
porch  and  massive  doors,  which  in  years 
gone  by  swung  open  with  a  hospitality  sec- 
ond to  none,  the  peach  orchard  stretched  out 
richly.  The  barn  and  stable  too,  although 
guiltless  of  the  blooded  stock  they  once 
boasted,  were  well  kept,  and  helped  to 
maintain  the  dignity  which  the  fine  old 
place  always  impressed  upon  the  beholder. 

But,  as  if  there  must  be  some  blot  upon 
such  a  picture,  some  one  slattern  element  to 
mark  both  the  decay  and  the  carelessness 
of  the  South,  the  skeleton  of  an  old  buggy 
stood,  year  in  and  year  out,  in  the  stable- 
yard,  in  full  view  both  from  the  drive  and 
from  the  dining-room  windows. 

Three  times  a  day,  at  least,  must  Miss 

Cornelia  and  Miss  Caroline  view  its  tattered 

and   flapping   remains.     The    shafts    were 

broken,  the  hinges  rusted,  the  curtains  torn, 

7 


INSTINCT    OF    STEP- FATHERHOOD 

and  the  dash-board  was  only  a  weeping 
apology  for  itself.  Every  time  the  wind 
rose  in  the  night  the  small  window-panes  in 
the  tattered  curtains  dashed  their  metal  rims 
against  the  skeleton  frame,  and  the  rusted 
springs  squeaked  and  shook.  Yet  no  one 
ever  spoke  of  it  disparagingly.  No  one  ever 
had  suggested  removing  it.  And  Miss 
Cornelia,  gazing  about  her  with  pride,  did 
not  notice  it  now. 

As  she  went  in  she  heard  voices,  and, 
walking  through  the  great  hall  which  divided 
the  house  into  two  equal  parts,  she  found 
Fred's  mother  on  the  back  porch  in  earnest 
conversation  with  Miss  Caroline. 

The  Yarboroughs  were  such  an  improv- 
ident set  that  without  the  continued  help 
of  the  ladies  of  Arborvita?  they  must  have 
died  from  sheer  inability  to  feed  themselves. 

"Good  -  evenin',  Miss  C'nelia.  I  just 
come  up  to  Arborvity  to  ask  you  V  Miss 
Calline  if  you'd  seen  any  signs  of  Fred's 
marryin'.  I  been  suspicionin'  for  'bout  three 
months  now  that  Fred  was  studyin'  'bout 
marryin',  an'  when  he  never  brought  his 
clo'es  home  to  be  washed  last  week  I  reck- 
8 


INSTINCT   OF   STEP- FATHERHOOD 

oned  he  was  fixin'  to  run  off.  You  say  you 
'ain't  seen  no  signs  of  such  ///-tendons,  Miss 
Calline?" 

Miss  Caroline  disappeared  for  a  moment, 
and  returned  carrying  a  small  black  oil-cloth 
satchel  about  eighteen  inches  long. 

"  Not  unless  you  call  this  a  sign,"  she  said. 

"  Yessum,  that's  it.  I  knew  it.  I've  seen 
her  with  that  very  baig.  She  always  carries 
it  to  camp-meetin'  with  her  to  hold  the  chil- 
dern's  clo'es." 

"The  children's  clothes!"  cried  Miss 
Cornelia  and  Miss  Caroline  at  once. 

"  Yessum.  It's  the  Widow  Perkins  he's 
a-courtin'.  She's  got  fo'  boys.  He's  un- 
dertakin'  right  smart  of  a  family  to  begin 
with,  an'  I'm  sot  agin  it.  'Tain't  that  I 
would  begrudge  a  pore  lone  widow  woman 
a  husband,  but  I  do  hate  to  see  her  catch 
Fred.  She's  sent  after  his  clo'es  an'  washed 
'em  herseff,  an'  they're  fixin'  to  marry.  You 
wait  an'  see  if  they  ain't.  Any  other  signs, 
Miss  C'nelia?" 

"  He  asked  me  if  he  might  have  the  old 
buggy  to-morrow  afternoon,"  said  Miss 
Cornelia. 


INSTINCT   OF   STEP- FATHERHOOD 

"  I  thought  so  !  You  see,  Miss  Calline  ! 
Any  other  signs  ?" 

"  He  showed  me  his  new  shoes  just  now," 
said  Miss  Cornelia. 

"  Shoes  !"  cried  Mrs.  Yarborough.  "  He 
never  had  awn  them  expensive  shoes !  An' 
to-day  only  Wednesday !  Oh,  his  extrava- 
gance  will  be  the  death  of  me  !" 

She  rose  to  go. 

"  She's  tried  so  mortal  hard  to  catch  him, 
an'  put  out  so  many  arts,  I  do  hate  to  see 
her  rtk-vices  succeed,"  she  said.  "  Fred's 
j'ined  the  church  awn  probation,  but  I  don't 
believe  that's  her  doin',  for  she  ain't  a  per- 
fessor.  I  don't  know  what  he  j'ined  for." 

"  Will  you  take  this  satchel  ?"  asked  Miss 
Caroline. 

"  No,  'm  ;  no,  'm.  I  wouldn't  tetch  it. 
That's  one  of  her  de-  vices  to  catch  Fred 
with.  I  wouldn't  tetch  it." 

Mrs.  Yarborough  went  slowly  down  the 
steps.  It  did  not  seem  to  occur  to  her  to 
try  to  prevent  this  ill-starred  marriage,  nor 
did  she  seem  alarmed  to  know  that  her  chief 
income  of  eight  dollars  a  month  would  go 
from  her  to  Fred's  bride.  She  felt  that  the 


INSTINCT  OF  STEP- FATHERHOOD 

Lord  and  Miss  Caroline  would  provide. 
They  always  had. 

They  watched  her  stubby  figure  waddle 
away. 

"  To  think  of  it !"  said  Miss  Cornelia. 
"  What  a  burden  the  child  is  taking  on  him- 
self !  Bertha  Perkins  is  thirty  if  she  is  a 
day,  poor  as  she  can  be,  and  has  those  four 
boys,  the  youngest  a  mere  baby.  Her 
husband  has  only  been  dead  about  eight 
months." 

"  You  don't  think  for  one  moment,  Sist' 
Nely,  that  I  am  going  to  allow  it,  do 
you  ?" 

Miss  Caroline  was  the  firm  one.  Miss 
Cornelia  was  the  one  people  loved. 

"I  hadn't  thought  at  all,  honey,  or  I 
should  have  known  that  you  meant  to  stop 
it." 

"  That  woman  is  just  too  lazy  for  any  use. 
She  never  would  work,  even  when  she  was  a 
girl.  She  just  sits  and  rocks  all  day  long, 
and  she  is  getting  so  big  and  fat  she  is  a 
sight." 

That  night,  after  Miss  Caroline  had  gone 
to  bed,  Aunt  Easter,  the  black  cook,  put  an 


INSTINCT  OF   STEP- FATHERHOOD 

ashen  face  in  at  the  door,  and,  with  chatter- 
ing teeth,  said  : 

"  Del  Law,  Miss  Nely,  dis  place  done 
ha'nted,  sho' !  Jis  creep  out  in  de  kitchen 
one  minute  an'  hyah  dat  chile  cryin'.  Hyah 
dat  ?  An'  you  know  dey  ain't  a  baby  within 
fo'  miles  of  Arbohvity.  Dat  means  a  death, 
sho'.  Del  Law,  Miss  Nely,  you  reckon  hit 
mean  me  ?  I  ain't  fitten  to  die,  Miss  Nely. 
I  ain't  never  perfessed  'ligion.  Del  Law ! 
Hyah  dat  ?  But  if  de  good  Lawd  spah  my 
life  tell  nex'  Sunday  I  gwine  be  babtized  in 
de  Branch,  sho's  shootin'.  I  is,  foh  a  fack. 
Oh,  Lawd,  spah  me,  hab  mussy  awn  my  sin- 
ful soul !  Hab  mussy,  Lawd,  an'  plenteous 
federation,  lake  You  done  promus  in  de 
Good  Book.  Del  Law,  Miss  Nely,  you  hyah 
dat  ?  Miss  Nely,  you's  a  good  lady,  an'  a 
perfessor  ;  won't  you  jis  kneel  down  awn  de 
flo'  an'  say  one  prah  foh  po'  ole  Easter  ?  Oh, 
Lawd,  Miss  Nely !" 

"  Hush,  Easter,"  said  Miss  Cornelia ; 
"  that  is  a  real  child  crying.  It  is  no  ha'nt. 
Give  me  the  lantern  and  come  with  me." 

Miss  Cornelia  lifted  her  skirts  and 
stepped  down  the  path  leading  to  the  barn, 


INSTINCT   OF   STEP- FATHERHOOD 

in  whose  upper  window  she  saw  Fred's 
light  burning.  Aunt  Easter,  with  pious 
ejaculations  of  "  Don't  strike,  Lawd !" 
"  Hoi'  Dy  wrath  a  little  longer,  Lawd !'' 
followed,  holding  her  clothes  up  with  both 
hands,  and  displaying  feet  and  ankles  never 
intended  for  rapid  transit.  Nevertheless, 
Aunt  Easter  meant  to  be  ready  to  run  if 
"  the  ha'nt "  appeared,  for  at  each  cry  of 
the  child  she  took  a  fresh  grab  at  her  skirts 
and  raised  them  higher,  with  frank  confi- 
dence in  the  friendly  darkness. 

When  they  reached  the  barn,  Miss  Cor- 
nelia's fears  were  realized.  They  could 
hear  Fred's  sturdy  bare  feet  patting  across 
the  floor  and  the  crying  of  a  child  being 
jolted.  Miss  Cornelia  was  in  a  quandary. 
She  had  no  doubt  but  that  Fred  had  mar- 
ried Mrs.  Perkins  that  day  and  had  brought 
his  interesting  family  home  to  share  the  lux- 
ury of  his  loft  with  him.  She  did  not  know 
what  to  do.  Miss  Caroline  would  have 
marched  up  and  demanded  to  know  the 
truth,  and  Miss  Cornelia  knew  that  in  the 
morning  she  would  be  held  accountable  for 
not  taking  the  same  summary  steps.  She 


INSTINCT   OF  STEP-FATHERHOOD 

thought  to  temporize  by  going  to  the  door 
and  calling  to  Fred  through  the  key-hole. 
But  at  the  first  sound  of  her  slippered  feet 
on  the  stairs,  Fred's  door  flew  open  and  he 
appeared  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  holding  Mrs. 
Perkins's  baby  in  his  short  arms. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Miss  Nely  ?" 

"  What  in  the  world,  Fred  !"  they  said  at 
the  same  time. 

"  It's  the  baby,  Miss  Nely.  His  Maw  was 
clean  wo'e  out  with  tendin'  him,  an'  he 
takes  to  me  so  mightily,  I  jes'  'lowed  I'd 
take  care  of  him  one  night  an'  give  her  a 
chance  to  sleep." 

"Where  is  she?"  asked  Miss  Cornelia. 

"  She's  home !" 

"  Then  you  aren't  married,  Fred  ?" 

"  No,  'm,  not  yet." 

It  was  so  ridiculous  that  Miss  Cornelia 
wanted  to  laugh,  but  Fred's  face  was  so 
grave  and  the  baby  so  pretty  that  something 
of  the  other  side  of  the  situation  struck 
across  Miss  Cornelia's  consciousness.  Fred 
seemed  to  have  swept  and  garnished  his 
room  amazingly.  Miss  Cornelia  sat  down 
in  one  chair  and  Fred  sat  in  the  oth- 
14 


INSTINCT   OF   STEP- FATHERHOOD 

er  —  there   were   but   two  —  while   he    ex- 
plained. 

"You  see,  Miss  Nely,  I'm  used  to  babies. 
Maw's  had  'leven  besides  me — all  girls — 
and  I've  hepped  her  with  every  one  of  'em, 
an'  I  know  jes'  what  to  do.  Now  Mis' 
Perkins,  altho'  she's  had  fo',  an'  she  bein' 
their  own  borned  mother,  she  don'  rightly 
know  how  to  keep  a  chile  from  hollerin'  and 
yellin'.  So  it  come  about  first  with  them 
takin'  to  me  so  powerful,  an'  me  bein'  so 
fond  of  the  little  fellers — all  boys,  Miss 
Nely.  Then  I  reckon  she  saw  how  handy 
I'd  be  to  have  around,  for  she  kind  of  took 
to  me  herseff.  You  know  she  is  big  and 
dark,  an'  I'm  little  an'  fair,  an'  it  do  look 
like  opposites  like  us  was  just  nachally 
drawed  together  an'  'pinted  to  marry.  She's 
lonesome,  Miss  Nely,  an'  she  ain't  wealthy, 
an'  she  ain't  strong,  so  she  needs  somebody 
to  take  care  of  her.  No,  'm,  she  don't  look 
delicate,  but  she  is.  She  hates  to  set  in  a 
straight  cheer.  She  likes  a  rocker.  I  got 
that  one  you're  settin'  in  for  her.  It  cost 
me  a  dollar  and  seventy-five  cents,  but  I 
don't  begrudge  it  to  her,  Miss  Nely.  " 
'5 


INSTINCT   OF  STEP- FATHERHOOD 

The  baby  cried  just  here,  and  Fred  got 
up  and  began  to  walk  up  and  down  with  it 
with  a  dignity  which  sat  funnily  upon  his 
short  body. 

"  Is — is  he  teething  ?"  asked  Miss  Cor- 
nelia, awkwardly. 

"  No,  'm.  Leastways  that  ain't  what 
makes  him  cry.  She's  weanin'  him,  an'  I 
'lowed  it  would  be  better  to  have  him  toolc- 
en  clean  away  from  her,  where  he  couldn't 
see  nor  hear  her.  You  know  she's  only  got 
two  rooms  in  her  house.  So  that's  what 
I'm  doin'.  I'm  weaning  him  for  her.  I 
'ain't  never  weaned  only  girl  babies  befo', 
Miss  Nely,  but  this  un's  a  boy.  An'  bein' 
a  boy,  an'  liable  to  grow  up  to  bad  ways 
is  where  the  'sponsibility  comes  in,  Miss 
Nely,  of  a  man  takin'  awn  family  cares.  I 
wouldn't  love  to  have  these  little  fellers 
know  their  Paw  had  no  bad  habits,  Miss 
Nely.  Marryin'  is  expensive,  I  know,  but 
Maw  will  jes'  have  to  give  up  some  of  her 
luxuries,  an'  git  along  awn  a  dollar  a  month 
from  me,  or  maybe  two.  I  mus'  have  at 
least  six  dollars  a  month  for  my  own 
family.  There,  Miss  Nely,  jes'  come  an' 
16 


INSTINCT   OF   STEP- FATHERHOOD 

look  at  him.  Didn't  he  go  to  sleep 
pretty  ?" 

Miss  Cornelia  and  Aunt  Easter  crept 
back  to  the  house  as  softly  as  they  had 
come.  All  Miss  Cornelia's  fine  intentions 
of  talking  Fred  out  of  his  intended  marriage 
had  faded  into  thin  air  before  his  earnest 
little  square  face  and  the  manliness  of  his 
honest  eyes.  The  grotesqueness  of  the 
situation  did  not  seem  as  absurdly  patent  as 
before. 

"  After  all,  what  matter  many  years  or 
few,  when  truth  and  loyalty  and  chivalry 
meet  together  in  one  sturdy  little  heart?" 
thought  Miss  Cornelia,  with  a  sentimentality 
which  Miss  Caroline  would  have  pooh- 
poohed. 

The  next  day  was  such  a  busy  one,  on  ac- 
count of  making  the  preserves — watermelon- 
rind  preserves,  which  everybody  knows  is 
fussy  work,  and  tomato  preserves,  done  with 
such  care  that  each  pear-shaped  tomato 
would  hold  its  shape  and  yet  be  dripping  in 
its  own  luscious  syrup  (Miss  Caroline  always 
used  the  pound-for-pound  recipe  for  her 
preserves) — that  it  was  the  middle  of  the 
B  17 


INSTINCT   OF   STEP- FATHERHOOD 

afternoon  before  they  noticed  that  both 
Fred  and  the  old  buggy  were  gone. 

Miss  Caroline  was  visibly  agitated.  Her 
delicate  fingers  were  shrivelled  with  alum- 
water  and  stained  with  fruit  as  they  trem- 
bled before  Miss  Cornelia's  stricken  gaze. 
Miss  Caroline  knew  nothing  of  "  the  ha'nt  " 
of  the  night  before. 

"  He  has  gone  !  And  he  will  be  married 
before  we  can  stop  it  now !  Oh,  that  fool- 
ish child  !  Sist'  Nely,  why  didn't  you  make 
me  talk  to  him  last  night  ?" 

"  Yonder  dey  come  !"  cried  Aunt  Easter. 
"  I  sees  de  ole  buggy  awn  de  brow  ob  de 
hill.  De  weddin'  pahty's  awn  de  way!" 

"  Then  they  must  pass  here.  Sist'  Nely, 
come  with  me  down  to  the  big  road — yes, 
just  as  you  are.  This  is  a  call  of  duty." 

She  took  her  sister's  reluctant  hand,  and 
both  old  ladies,  with  the  other  hands  neatly 
holding  their  skirts  from  feet  still  trim  and 
small,  stepped  down  the  arbor-vitas  drive  to 
the  big  road,  down  whose  smooth  stretch 
came  the  Yarborough  gray  mare  hitched  to 
the  sad  old  skeleton  buggy  of  the  Peebles. 

It  was  a  sorry- looking  wedding  proces- 
18 


INSTINCT   OF    STEP- FATHERHOOD 

sion.  The  wheels  of  the  buggy  groaned 
under  the  weight  of  the  placid,  large,  mild- 
eyed  woman  who  towered  above  her  small 
but  earnest  bridegroom.  The  baby  was  in 
her  lap,  the  oldest  boy  on  the  seat  between 
them,  and  the  other  two  packed  in  at  their 
feet.  The  torn  curtains  flapped  in  the 
breeze  and  gave  a  certain  banner  effect  to 
an  otherwise  sombre  equipage,  and  through 
the  holes  in  the  dash-board  the  lively  young- 
sters pulled  the  patient  old  mare's  tail  and 
prodded  her  with  little  sticks. 

Mrs.  Perkins  was  not  at  all  abashed  to  be 
stopped  in  this  manner.  She  listened  plac- 
idly to  all  Miss  Caroline  had  to  say  as  to 
why  this  marriage  should  not  go  forward, 
but  Fred's  appealing  blue  eyes  were  glued 
to  Miss  Cornelia's,  for  in  her  he  felt  that  he 
had  an  ally.  She  finally  felt  obliged,  in  the 
face  of  her  sister's  convincing  arguments,  to 
shake  her  head  at  him. 

';  Did  I  understand  you  to  say,  Miss  Cal- 
line,  that  if  Fred  persists  in  his  //Mentions 
of  marryin  me  that  you  won't  let  him  work 
for  you  no  mo'  ?" 

"  You  certainly  did,  Bertha  ;  so  the  sooner 


INSTINCT   OF    STEP- FATHERHOOD 

you  turn  around  and  go  home  the  better  for 
you." 

"  Fred,  honey,"  said  the  bride-elect,  "  it 
ain't  no  use.  If  that  eight  dollars  a  month 
goes,  how  you  goin'  to  pervide  for  a  family  ? 
He's  so  taken  with  the  childern,  Miss  Cal- 
line,  that  I  do  hate  to  disapp'inthim  ;  but  if 
yore  mind  is  made  up,  I  know  mightily  well 
it  ain't  no  mortal  use  trying  to  git  you  to 
change  it.  Fred,  honey,  you  know  I  tole 
you  I  reckoned  I'd  better  marry  Mist'  Tar- 
bell,  but  you  couldn't  seem  to  let  them  chil- 
dern go  to  no  man  who  would  bring  'em  up 
every  which  a-way.  Come  awn,  honey,  Miss 
Calline's  done  spoke  the  final  word,  so  let's 
give  up  peaceable." 

Fred  fetched  another  sigh,  such  as  always 
accompanied  any  thought  of  his  approach- 
ing marriage,  and  slowly  turned  the  mare's 
head. 

Nobody  had  made  any  fuss.  It  was  all 
very  calm  and  proper.  The  two  ladies 
watched  the  wobbly  course  of  the  disap- 
pointed wedding-party  as  it  crept  back  up 
the  hill  and  disappeared  over  its  brow. 

That  night  Miss  Cornelia  saw  Fred  sit- 


INSTINCT   OF    STEP- FATHERHOOD 

ting  disconsolately  alone,  and  went  out  to 
him. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  Fred,  for  your  sake,"  she 
began. 

"  Nemmine  me,  nemmine  me,  Miss  Nely," 
he  said.  "  But  think  of  them  little  fellers 
with  that  man  Tarbell  for  a  Paw.  He  ain't 
a  perfessor  nor  nothin'." 

He  sighed  deeply. 

"  They  sho'  were  sweet  little  fellers, 
weren't  they,  Miss  Nely  ?  An'  all  boys.  I 
tell  you,  Miss  Nely,  it  would  a'  been  worth 
while  raisin'  a  family  like  that  to  be  good 
an'  honest  men.  It  used  to  make  me  feel 
powerful  solemn  just  thinkin'  about  it." 

"  To  be  good  an'  honest  men,"  he 
repeated. 

He  smiled  up  into  Miss  Cornelia's  face. 

"  It  was  them  I  give  up  chawin'  fur,  Miss 
Nely,"  he  said,  softly. 


A    STUDY    IN    HEARTS 


A   STUDY    IN    HEARTS 


WHEN  an  attractive  American  girl  is  bored, 
it  generally  means  that  she  is  not  in  love 
with  any  one.  It  never  means  that  no  one 
is  in  love  with  her.  That  unfortunate  state 
of  things  would  cause  her  to  be  discontent- 
ed—  not  bored.  Besides,  there  is  always 
somebody  in  love  with  the  attractive  Ameri- 
can girl.  Unhappily  it  too  often  is  the 
wrong  somebody. 

Jessica  Drew  was  bored. 

She  sat  by  the  window  watching  for  the 
postman.  Not  that  she  was  looking  for  any 
particular  letter,  but  when  several  men  are 
interested  in  a  girl,  the  advent  of  the  post- 
man is  always  fraught  with  mildly  exciting 
possibilities. 


A   STUDY   IN    HEARTS 

There  is  something  particularly  rumina- 
tive about  the  occupation  of  watching  for 
the  postman.  A  woman  is  liable  to  feel 
gently  sentimental  at  such  a  time.  There 
are  so  few  things  in  this  rushing  American 
life  of  ours  which  tend  that  way,  that  for 
this  reason,  perhaps,  the  habit  of  watching 
for  the  postman  should  be  encouraged. 

Jessica  was  feeling  a  trifle  hurt  —  just 
enough  so  to  make  her  thoughts  amiably 
cynical.  She  divided  girls  into  three  class- 
es. If  a  girl  had  one  lover,  she  was  called 
"  a  sweet  creature  "  by  the  other  girls.  If 
she  had  two  or  three,  she  was  respectfully 
alluded  to  as  "fascinating."  If  she  were 
unhappy  enough  to  have  won  half  a  dozen, 
with  more  in  prospect,  she  was  stigmatized 
as  ".#  coquette." 

Jessica  had  just  been  called  a  coquette. 

Is  it  so  short  a  step  from  the  sentimental 
to  the  moral,  or  why  is  it  that  conscience 
often  utilizes  the  quiet  moments  of  watching 
for  the  postman  to  do  its  most  effective 
work? 

Jessica  and  her  conscience  were  on  inti- 
mate but  not  particularly  agreeable  terms. 
26 


A  STUDY    IN    HEARTS 

One  sometimes  has  friends  of  that  descrip- 
tion. 

In  analyzing  why  she  was  neither  entirely 
pleased  nor  entirely  offended  by  the  epi- 
thet, Jessica  discovered,  in  one  of  those 
sudden  blinding  soul-illuminations,  in  which 
one's  conscience  takes  such  ghoulish  delight, 
that  her  vanity  was  pricked  at  the  power 
and  fascination  over  men  which  the  term 
implied,  but  that  her  higher  nature  revolted 
at  the  implication  that  she  would  stoop  to 
trifle  with  love. 

In  her  secret  heart  she  knew  that  some- 
times she  did  so  stoop.  But  never  at  the 
beginning  of  an  affair,  she  assured  herself. 
It  never  would  occur  to  her  to  try  to  win 
a  man's*  love.  But  when  she  discovered 
that  he  already  was  entangled,  why,  then — 
why,  then — perhaps  she  led  him  on — a  trifle. 
It  was  wrong,  of  course.  So  many  agreeable 
diversions  are  wrong.  But  how  in  the  world, 
she  argued,  warmly,  are  you  going  to  find 
out  whether  you  like  a  man  unless  you  do 
encourage  him  ?  You  never  even  begin  to 
know  him  until  he  falls  in  love  with  you ! 

Jessica's  cheeks  flushed.     Then  her  eyes 
27 


A   STUDY    IN    HEARTS 

grew  wistful.  To  be  sure,  she  had  ex- 
pected that  when  love  came  to  her  heart 
he  would  herald  his  approach  with  no  un- 
certain sound.  But  as  he  never  had  come 
thus  far,  she  felt  justified  in  experimenting 
a  trifle  to  test  her  own  feelings,  somewhat 
regardless  of  her  lover's — whoever  he  hap- 
pened to  be. 

She  knew  so  well  that  she  had  no  right  to 
do  this  under  any  pretext  that  her  con- 
science became  even  more  disagreeable  as 
a  companion  than  usual. 

She  wished  that  postman  would  hurry! 
There  was  no  sense  in  his  stopping  to  talk 
with  all  the  housemaids  along  the  street  ! 

She  comforted  herself  a  little  with  the 
thought  that  she  alone  knew  the  truth  con- 
cerning her  shortcomings,  for  she  possessed 
to  a  degree  the  tact  of  compelling  from 
others  a  faith  in  her  goodness  which  she  in 
nowise  shared  with  them.  The  men  them- 
selves always  went  away  with  the  idea  that 
if  Fate  had  not  been  adverse,  Jessica  un- 
doubtedly would  have  married  them. 

Thus  she  was  spared  the  reproaches  of 
her  lovers.  They  even  defended  her  against 
28 


A   STUDY   IN   HEARTS 

her  women  friends,  the  unmarried  of  whom 
were  not  so  considerate. 

She  reformed  periodically.  But  to  her 
dismay  she  discovered  that  the  only  result 
therefrom  was  to  cause  her  to  be  brusque 
or  in  some  way  unpleasant  to  an  incipient 
lover,  who,  as  yet,  not  being  sufficiently  un- 
der her  spell  to  forgive  her  manner  as  a 
vagary  of  perfection,  thereupon  became  of- 
fended and  withdrew,  under  the  impression 
that  she  either  was  inordinately  conceited, 
or  else  had  a  very  bad  temper.  So,  smart- 
ing under  this  palpable  injustice,  she  swung 
back  to  her  habit  of  letting  things  take  their 
own  course. 

She  called  her  young  ladyhood  "  a  career 
of  magnificent  beginnings  and  reprehensible 
endings." 

Her  affairs  were  singularly  subjective,  for 
in  spite  of  this  "  weakness  " — her  own  word 
— her  ideals  of  womanliness  were  lofty.  Men 
might  pour  out  their  hearts  to  her  in  lan- 
guage which  would  have  broken  down  a  re- 
serve less  fixed  than  hers,  but  they  were  not 
permitted  so  much  as  to  touch  the  tips  of 
her  fingers.  Her  personal  dignity  kept  at 
29 


A   STUDY   IN   HEARTS 

bay  all  profanation  save  that  of  words.  In 
this  way  she  compelled  their  respect,  and 
kept  it  after  they  were  released  from  the 
spell  of  her  magnetic  personality. 

An  affair  of  the  heart  of  this  type  can  only 
be  brought  to  perfection  by  the  American 
girl,  and  it  has  no  name.  Jessica  objected 
to  the  word  flirtation  as  only  a  degree  less 
vulgar  than  the  deed.  She  considered  "  co- 
quette "  frivolous,  and  claimed  that  the 
French  word  carried  with  it  no  idea  of  the 
brain  necessarily  involved  in  a  woman  who 
essayed  the  role  in  America. 

The  charm  of  Jessica  Drew  defied  analy- 
sis. She  fully  appreciated  the  fascination 
with  which  a  certain  amount  of  mystery  sur- 
rounds a  woman.  Her  manner  carried  out 
a  mysteriousness  which  her  face,  with  its 
strange  lights  and  shadows,  suggested.  One 
felt  at  once  that  she  was  singular ;  then  at- 
tractive ;  then  alluring.  But  one  must  with- 
draw from  her  presence  to  discover  that 
under  it  all  she  was  supremely  clever ;  so 
clever  even  as  to  conceal  her  cleverness 
from  men.  She  labelled  herself  "Harm- 
less." Men  oftener  found  her  deadly. 
3° 


A   STUDY   IN   HEARTS 

As  is  the  case  with  a  masterful  person- 
ality, an  unusually  shrewd  intellect,  and  an 
inflexible  will  (though  in  the  case  of  Jes- 
sica all  this  was  sheathed  under  a  guileless 
exterior),  she  had  hitherto  attracted  men  of 
the  opposite  temperament.  The  gentle,  con- 
siderate, even-tempered  man,  with  no  idea 
of  controlling  circumstances  or  braving 
Fate,  always  found  himself  sooner  or  later 
at  the  feet  of  Jessica  Drew.  One  cannot  be 
sure  that  she  ever  would  have  called  the 
apathy  of  feeling  which  this  type  of  man 
created  in  her  by  so  harsh  a  name  as  con- 
tempt, but  certain  it  is  that  those  mysteri- 
ous eyes  of  hers  had  the  suspicion  of  a  look 
in  them  which  was  almost  mocking,  and  her 
restlessness  sometimes  made  itself  known  in 
an  occasional  satirical  speech,  directed  with 
fatal  precision  at  the  weakest  point  of  her 
lover's  armor — a  speech  barbed  with  a  wit 
which  almost  brought  the  water  to  his  eyes, 
but  which,  uttered  in  her  velvet  voice,  he 
never  had  the  courage  nor  the  skill  to  parry. 

"  A  letter  for  you,  Jessica,"  said  a  voice 
at  the  door. 

She  turned  with  a  start.  That  insidious 
31 


A   STUDY   IN    HEARTS 

postman  must  have  evaded  her  watchfulness, 
for  she  had  not  seen  him  come  after  all. 

"  Only  one,  Gladys  ?"  she  asked,  recover- 
ing herself. 

"  Only  one  that  you  will  care  about,"  an- 
swered her  sister.  "These  others  seem  to 
be  in  ladies'  handwriting." 

Gladys  had  all  the  tactless  honesty  of  fif- 
teen years. 

Jessica  glanced  quickly  at  her  sister,  then 
drew  her  brows  together  as  if  pained.  Gladys 
was  too  gentle  to  be  satirical  and  too  sweet 
to  be  unkind.  Jessica  seemed  for  the  first 
time  to  be  obtaining  an  outside  view  of  her- 
self to-day.  Hitherto  she  had  been  an  un- 
conscious Egoist. 

"  Come  here,  dear,"  she  said,  holding  out 
her  hand  to  Gladys,  with  a  little  catch  in 
her  voice.  Jessica  was  usually  so  undemon- 
strative that  Gladys  half  shyly  put  her  hand 
in  her  sister's. 

"  This  letter  is  from  my  old  German 
teacher,  who  is  so  poor  and  alone  in  the 
world  that  I  am  taking  care  of  her  out  of 
my  allowance.  This  one  is  from  Mrs. 
Lloyd  Stanley,  the  mother  of  Georgia  Stan- 
32 


A  STUDY   IN   HEARTS 

ley,  and  my  very  dearest  friend.  She  is  the 
cleverest,  most  human  woman  I  ever  knew. 
She  is  old  enough  to  be  my  mother,  yet 
there  is  more  of  the  spice  of  life,  more  of 
the  fun  of  perennial  youth  in  her,  than  in 
any  ten  girls  I  know.  I  would  much  rather 
have  either  of  these  letters  than  this  one, 
which  is  from  Frank  Fair.  Without  read- 
ing them,  I  know  how  they  will  affect  me. 
Don't  think  meanly  of  me,  Gladys." 

"  Indeed  I  don't.  I  think  the  world  of 
you,  Jessica." 

Jessica  pressed  the  girl's  hand  in  sudden 
gratitude.  Gladys,  feeling  herself  dismissed, 
left  the  room  with  a  sigh,  wondering  for  the 
thousandth  time  if,  when  she  became  a 
young  lady,  she  would  be  half  as  fascinat- 
ing and  successful  as  Jessica. 

Left  alone,  Jessica  read  the  letters  from 
the  two  women  first.  With  a  little  secret 
thrill  of  self-contempt,  she  realized  that  nat- 
urally she  would  have  read  Frank's  first,  if 
it  had  not  been  for  what  she  had  just  said 
to  Gladys. 

When  she  came  to  his,  she  sat  turning  it 
over  in  her  hands  and  wondering  what  he 
c  33 


A   STUDY   IN    HEARTS 

could  have  to  say.  Somehow  she  dreaded 
to  read  it.  She  had  not  quite  liked  the  way 
he  had  taken  his  dismissal.  He  seemed  a 
little  revengeful — more  mortified  than  hurt; 
as  if  his  vanity  had  been  more  deeply  wound- 
ed than  his  love.  He  had  acted  as  if  his 
turn  would  come  later. 

But  this  idea  of  retaliation  seemed  so  im- 
possible, so  unworthy  of  him  to  plan  it,  and 
of  her  to  suspect  it,  that  she  put  it  from  her 
mind.  What  if  he  had  written  to  reopen 
the  painful  subject  ?  A  doubt  assailed  her, 
as  once  or  twice  it  had  done  before,  as  to 
her  wisdom  in  dismissing  him.  He  came 
dangerously  near  being  what  she  always  had 
said  she  must  have  in  the  man  she  married. 
She  had  not  given  him  credit  for  persistence 
enough  to  brave  a  second  refusal.  If  he 
had  —  she  almost  believed  she  —  but  no. 
She  had  to  admit,  however,  that  in  the 
event  that  he  had  the  perseverance  to  re- 
new his  proposals,  it  would  remove  one 
cause  of  reproach  against  him,  and  she 
might  find  herself  confronted  with  a  prob- 
lem. 

Then  she  opened  the  letter. 
34 


A  STUDY   IN   HEARTS 


II 


With  a  devout  thankfulness  that  no  one 
can  read  the  egotism  of  our  secret  thoughts, 
she  read  it  a  second  time  all  the  way  through. 
It  was  only  a  note  asking  permission  to  pre- 
sent a  friend  to  her,  a  certain  Ramsay  Van 
Buren. 

"  Where  have  I  heard  that  name  before?" 
thought  Jessica.  "  Not  from  Frank  Fair, 
surely.  I  do  believe  I  have  heard  Mrs. 
Stanley  speak  of  him." 

She  went  to  her  desk  and  wrote  : 

"  MY  DEAREST  FRIEND, — Your  delicious 
letter  has  this  moment  arrived,  together 
with  one  from  Frank  Fair,  saying  that 
Mr.  Ramsay  Van  Buren  will  be  here  this 
week,  and  that,  feeling  sure  I  would  enjoy 
meeting  such  a  man,  he  had  taken  the  lib- 
erty of  giving  him  a  letter  to  me.  Is  this 
Mr.  Van  Buren  your  Mr.  Van  Buren  ?  Tell 
me  instantly  all  you  know  about  him.  Isn't 
he  the  one  who  is  engaged  to  Polly  Pope  ? 
If  so  he  is  to  be  avoided  as  dangerous.  I 
35 


A   STUDY    IN    HEARTS 

have  heard  too  much  of  his  fascinations  to 
trust  myself  with  him.  I  think  I  shall  take 
to  the  woods  and  fast  and  pray  until  he 
leaves  town. 

"  Why  should  Frank  want  me  to  meet 
this  man  so  particularly,  unless — 

"  Hurry  and  write  to  me.     I  will  answer 
your  dear  letter  properly  this  afternoon. 
"  Yours  with  love, 

"JESSICA." 

Two  days  later  she  received  Mrs.  Stan- 
ley's reply,  with  a  special-delivery  stamp  on 
it.  Jessica  laughed  when  she  saw  it.  But 
she  cut  it  open  with  unusual  haste  and 
read: 

"  DEAREST  GIRL,  —  The  plot  thickens. 
Your  Mr.  Van  Buren  is,  indeed,  my  Mr. 
Van  Buren  —  alas,  not  Polly  Pope's  Mr. 
Van  Buren  any  more.  My  dear,  that  en- 
gagement is  off,  and  silence  reigns  supreme. 
Of  course  he  does  not  admit  that  he  broke 
it — I'd  have  Lloyd  thrash  him  if  he  did — 
not  that  it  is  any  of  my  business  whom  he 
flirts  with,  to  be  sure ! — but  all  his  friends 
36 


A   STUDY   IN    HEARTS 

think  he  did,  so  he  openly  gets  the  credit 
for  it. 

"He  is  undoubtedly  the  most  attractive 
man  I  ever  met,  and  the  keenest.  You 
never  knew  anybody  like  him.  Even  I,  old 
married  woman  that  I  am,  with  Georgie  on 
my  hands  to  make  me  ashamed  of  saying  it 
— even  I  come  under  his  spell,  and  feel, 
when  he  looks  at  me,  as  if  he  could  see  the 
pattern  of  the  wall-paper  behind  my  head. 
His  eyes  bore  holes  in  my  brain.  I  feel  as 
if  I  were  being  hypnotized  in  a  mild  degree. 
He  has  a  high-bred  air  and  a  lofty  bearing, 
"as  if  he  mocked  himself  and  scorned  his 
spirit  which  could  be  moved  "  to  play  a  part 
upon  this  insignificant  stage  of  life.  He  is 
very  conceited.  I  have  heard  it  said  (I  feel 
culpable  in  repeating  to  you  the  gossip  of 
a  chit  like  Georgie  and  the  girls,  but  you 
wanted  it,  so  pray  forgive  me)  that  he  has 
said  that  he  knew  perfectly  well  that  he 
could  have  any  girl  in  town  for  the  ask- 
ing, but  that  he  didn't  want  any  of  them. 
Jessica,  I  can  hardly  believe  that  he  said 
such  a  dreadful  thing.  But  if  he  did — flirt 
with  him,  Jessie,  darling.  Bring  him  to  his 
37 


A  STUDY   IN    HEARTS 

knees.  Make  him  propose  to  you,  and  then 
throw  him  over  for  poor  Polly  Pope's  sake. 
More  girls  than  she  would  present  you  with 
a  wreath  of  immortelles  if  you  would.  You 
are  the  only  girl  in  the  world  who  could  do 
it  and  keep  her  head,  besides  being  the  only 
one  to  whom  I  would  suggest  such  a  thing. 
Oh,  I  hope  the  Lord  won't  punish  me  for 
this  by  allowing  some  old  woman  who 
ought  to  know  better  to  urge  a  similar  thing 
on  my  Georgie !  What  a  weak  thing  I  am  ! 
Perhaps  he  never  said  it,  Jessica . 

"  I  think  when  you  meet  him  you  will  agree 
with  me  in  saying  that  he  is  too  good  not 
to  be  better.  He  needs  to  have  a  great  deal 
taken  out  of  him  before  he  can  be  satisfac- 
tory. But  he  is  too  clever  to  be  wasted. 

"I  am  quite  sure  that  you  will  get  at  the 
true  inwardness  of  him  after  all  this.  Make 
him  propose  to  you  before  you  get  through 
with  him,  and  I'll  give  you  a  dollar !  It 
won't  hurt  him  in  the  least.  It  will  be  good 
for  him.  He  needs  the  discipline  of  a  Circe, 
and  that's  you,  dear.  Oh,  what  a  wretch  I 
am  ! 

"  I  am  going  to  buy  my  first  pair  of  glasses 
38 


A   STUDY    IN    HEARTS 

to-morrow.  I  am  sick  with  the  thought  of 
the  nasty  things,  but  I  can't  see  any  more. 
I  may  write  better  after  this.  So  might  it 
be! 

"  Georgie  has  gained  twelve  pounds  with 
the  sea-bathing.  She  would  be  vexed  if  she 
knew  I  told  you. 

"  Good-bye,  dear  one. 

"  Your  loving  affinity,- 

"  LUCIA  BURKE  STANLEY. 

"  P.  S. — I'm  sure  I  don't  know  why  Frank 
wants  him  to  know  you,  unless —  A  man 
wouldn't  be  such  a  fool  as  to  introduce 
Ramsay  Van  Buren  to  a  woman  he  loved, 
even  if  the  woman  had  jilted  him,  unless — 
Oh,  I  quite  agree  with  you !  L.  B.  S." 

Jessica  felt  that  this  was  a  matter  which 
deserved  thought.  She  smiled  a  little  de- 
risively at  the  idea  of  Polly  Pope,  or  any 
other  of  the  girls  he  was  thought  to  have 
flouted,  being  grateful  to  her  if  she  should 
succeed  where  they  had  failed. 

"  They  would  hate  me  for  it,  no  matter 
how  much  they  might  have  urged  it  upon 
me  beforehand.  Girls  always  do.  And 
39 


A   STUDY   IN   HEARTS 

they  would  only  give  me  a  wreath  of  im- 
mortelles from  gratitude  if  I  would  be  so 
good  as  to  die  and  let  them  hang  it  on  my 
simple  headstone.  Thank  fortune  I  don't 
know  Polly  Pope  or  any  of  them.  I  won- 
der when  he  will  come  ?" 

He  came  that  day.  He  was  waiting  for 
her  in  the  drawing-room,  and  thinking  with 
no  little  amusement  of  his  lunch  at  the  club 
with  two  men  who  knew  her  and  who  admired 
her  so  entirely.  One  had  evidently  been  in 
love  with  her  and  had  got  over  it.  He 
couldn't  quite  make  out  whether  the  other 
one  was  now  interested  and  was  silent  from 
that  cause,  or  whether  he  was  not  yet  en- 
tangled. He  thought  it  absurd  to  find  one  girl 
turning  the  heads  of  so  many  men — really 
fine  fellows,  too.  Probably  she  had  master- 
ed a  few  of  the  first  principles  of  her  art,  and 
these  had  carried  her  triumphantly  thus  far. 
He  hated  a  flirt.  He  knew  he  wouldn't 
like  her.  He  told  himself  that  he  had  only 
called  because  he  knew  she  must  know  of 
Frank  Fair's  letter.  He  smiled  again  when 
he  remembered  Woodford's  tone  to-day 
when  he  discovered  his  (Van  Buren's)  des- 
40 


A   STUDY   IN   HEARTS 

tination.  "Going  to  call  on  Miss  Drew? 
The  Lord  be  with  you  !" 

Van  Buren  was  a  little  disconcerted  when 
he  suddenly  became  aware  that  Miss  Drew 
was  standing  before  him  with  a  faint  smile 
on  her  lips  at  his  evident  enjoyment  of  some 
recollection. 

She  held  out  her  hand,  and  he  had  to 
cross  the  room  to  take  it.  There  was  some- 
thing unusual  both  in  her  touch  and  the  way 
she  shook  hands.  She  did  not  shake  hands 
at  all,  he  remembered  afterwards.  She 
put  her  hand  into  his  and  he  had  held 
it  for  a  moment.  It  was  different,  but  it 
was  very  pleasant.  He  was  glad  he  had 
come. 

They  covered  the  first  few  minutes  very 
well,  each  studying  the  other  under  the  cover 
of  the  mawkish  platitudes  by  which  people 
begin  to  knew  each  other.  Each  discovered 
that  the  other  was  in  no  way  like  the  pre- 
conceived idea. 

Jessica  was  saying  over  and  over  to  her- 
self :  "  He  never  said  it.  I  don't  believe  it. 
I  can't." 

He  was  indeed  unlike  any  one  she  had 
4* 


A    STUDY    IN    HEARTS 

ever  known.  He  was  a  power.  She  knew 
at  once  why  Mrs.  Stanley  had  said  he 
seemed  half  scornful  of  society  at  large. 
Mrs.  Stanley  was  magnetic  enough  to  feel 
this  self-appreciation,  but  Jessica  was  sur- 
prised that  her  friend's  astuteness  should 
have  been  so  much  at  fault  as  to  name  it 
conceit.  Here,  at  least,  was  a  foeman 
worthy  of  her  steel.  Here  was  a  man  to 
whom  she  could  talk.  She  began  to  feel  a 
tingling  in  her  brain,  as  if  her  ideas  were 
being  called  for  by  one  who  deserved  them, 
and  as  if  they  were  waking  out  of  the  sleep 
into  which  they  had  been  lulled  by  the  con- 
versation of  other  men. 

Van  Buren  was  thinking :  "  Her  eyes  are 
wonderful.  They  were  yellow  when  I  first 
saw  them,  and  as  clear  as  amber.  Now 
they  are  troubled  with  shadows,  which  come 
and  go.  She  is  worse  than  beautiful.  I 
wonder  what  she  is  thinking  about  ?  I 
wonder  what  she  thinks  of  me?" 

This  question  was   a   new  one.     There 

never  before  had  been  any  doubt  in  his 

mind  as  to  what  any  girl  thought  of  him. 

Most  girls  were  transparent,  and  he,  unlike 

42 


A  STUDY   IN    HEARTS 

most  men,  was  brilliantly  interested  in  the 
study  of  human  nature. 

Jessica  recognized  his  interest. 

"  He  is  regarding  me  as  a  sentient  being," 
she  said  to  herself.  "  Perhaps  he  suspects 
that  I  am  capable  of  thought.  Heavens ! 
he  must  not  know  that !  I  must  be  more 
frivolous!" 

Her  curiosity  to  know  just  why  Frank 
Fair  had  sent  Mr.  Van  Buren  to  see  her 
was  tempered  with  a  certain  fear  of  the 
truth  when  it  should  be  discovered.  He 
had  come  so  near  being  the  right  one  for 
her,  yet  had  just  missed  it  by  a  hair's- 
breadth.  She  had  not  quite  got  her  own 
consent  to  trust  him.  Her  faith  was  not 
intuitive.  She  had  reasoned  herself  into  it 
because  she  felt  ashamed  of  being  so  igno- 
ble as  to  refuse  it.  Her  present  predica- 
ment was  precisely  the  one  she  had  been  in 
many  times  before.  Instead  of  being  able 
to  credit  him  with  the  noblest  qualities,  she 
doubted  him  persistently.  She  felt  herself 
grow  hot  with  self  -  indignation  that  she 
stooped  to  credit  him  with  vengeance  so 
unworthy  as  to  introduce  to  her  a  man  so 
43 


A  STUDY   IN   HEARTS 

well  known  to  be  attractive  as  to  be  danger- 
ous* Jessica  was  so  hopelessly  honest  with 
herself  that  she  tried  to  believe  it  was  only 
a  base  reflection  of  her  own  base  suggestion 
to  avenge  poor  Polly  Pope. 

"  Evidently  you  will  not  feel  at  ease  until 
you  have  decided,"  said  Mr.  Van  Buren. 

Jessica  looked  up  so  plainly  startled  that 
he  smiled. 

"  How  did  you  know  ?"  she  said,  bravely. 

"  How  fine  of  her  not  to  stoop  to  equivo- 
cate !"  he  said  to  himself. 

"Oh,  by  the  lights  and  shadows  in  your 
eyes.  Your  mind  is  wrestling  with  a  prob- 
lem. I  cannot  flatter  myself  that  I  am  the 
problem,  but  you  are  wondering  if  I  can 
help  you  to  solve  it." 

"  I  wish  there  were  more  men  like  you," 
she  said,  simply.  "  It  is  gratifying  to  meet 
one  who  expects  a  woman  to  think." 

Van  Buren  made  a  mental  recoil.  She 
had  done  precisely  what  he  had  been  wait- 
ing for.  It  was  an  old  trick.  It  was  one 
of  his  own,  therefore  he  recognized  it.  She 
had  struck  the  personal  note.  All  coquettes 
know  how  to  do  it.  Only  few  do  it  with 
44 


A   STUDY   IN   HEARTS 

quite  the  air  of  simplicity  that  Jessica  used. 
Her  voice  sounded  grateful.  Nevertheless 
he  determined  not  to  fall  a  victim.  Her 
fascinations  were  too  well  known. 

"Then  I  was  right?"  he  hazarded. 

"  You  were  quite  right.  I  was  wondering 
if  a  woman  ever  were  justified  in  disregard- 
ing her  intuitions." 

"  I  don't  know.     We  men  have  none." 

u  I  know  you  are  said  not  to  have,  but 
that  reason  or  logic  which  gives  you  a  hold 
over  another  human  intelligence,  such  as 
you  have  just  displayed,  must  be  akin  to 
intuition." 

Van  Buren  felt  such  a  satisfaction  per- 
meate his  being  at  the  subtlety  of  her  re- 
mark that  he  pulled  himself  up  with  a  start. 
He  was  disgusted  to  find  that  she  was  actu- 
ally making  headway  with  him  after  all  his 
warnings.  He  was  annoyed,  too,  to  find 
that  her  tones  had  such  sincerity  in  them — 
that  her  flattery  sounded  so  much  like  the 
simple  truth  uttered  with  a  child's  direct- 
ness. This,  then,  was  her  game,  he  thought. 
She  steals  "the  livery  of  the  court  of 
Heaven  to  serve  the  devil  in !" 
45 


A   STUDY    IN    HEARTS 

"  Men,  I  believe,  possess  but  five  senses, 
women  six,  and  coquettes  seven,"  he  said, 
looking  her  directly  in  the  eyes. 

Jessica's  electrical  nature  felt  the  sudden 
change,  and  she  knew  just  how  it  had  come 
about.  She  had  seen  other  men  grope  blindly 
through  it.  This  one  was  clever  enough  to 
extricate  himself.  Nevertheless,  she  felt  the 
blow.  As  she  did  not  reply  at  once,  he 
added : 

"That  is  where  a  woman  has  the  advan- 
tage over  a  man." 

His  ironical  tone  stung  the  girl. 

"  And  a  brute  over  both,"  she  said,  with 
her  amber  eyes  turning  dark,  and  the  scarlet 
coming  into  her  lips.  "  In  the  brute  it  is 
instinct;  in  woman,  intuition.  Man  is  the 
only  creature  sent  helpless  into  the  world,  to 
blunder  along  on  reason." 

Her  recognition  of  his  perception  and  her 
swift  reproof  he  regarded  with  an  admira- 
tion he  never  yet  had  accorded  to  any 
woman.  His  sense  of  humor  and  his  ap- 
preciation of  her  pluck  overbalanced  his 
chagrin,  and  he  laughed. 

Jessica  only  smiled.  She  was  sincerely 
46 


A  STUDY   IN   HEARTS 

hurt.  Most  men  believed  her  to  be  better 
than  she  really  was.  Here  was  a  man  who 
would  not  believe  her  to  be  even  as  good 
as  she  knew  herself  to  be.  She  was  stirred 
beyond  all  reason.  The  placidity  of  both 
was  ruffled.  The  positive  and  negative  had 
come  together  with  a  flash  which  was  at  once 
disquieting  and  exciting. 

"You  believe,  then,  in  instinct  over  in- 
tuition?" he  asked. 

"  Brutes  follow  their  instinct  blindly  if 
left  to  themselves,  and  never  make  mistakes 
unless  interfered  with  by  human  beings. 
Women  only  make  mistakes  when  they  dis- 
regard their  intuition.  Men,  pertinaciously 
following  reason  to  a  logical  conclusion, 
make  the  most  mistakes  of  all,"  she  an- 
swered. 

There  was  no  bitterness  in  her  tone,  only 
deep  feeling. 

"  How  so  ?"  he  asked. 

"  By  satisfying  their  own  intelligence  re- 
gardless of  the  fact  that  in  so  doing  they 
often  wound  another's  heart." 

Van  Buren  regarded  her  suspiciously  to 
see  if  she  were  becoming  personal.  But 
47 


A    STUDY    IN    HEARTS 

her  cool  tones  and  clear  eyes  assured  him 
that  she  was  but  generalizing. 

He  was  surprised  to  find  himself  disap- 
pointed that  she  was  not  personal.  He 
resented  this  weakness  in  himself  to  the 
extent  that  he  rose  to  go. 

"  A  clever  woman  like  yourself  nee^d  never 
fear  that  her  heart  will  ever  be  wounded  by 
anything,"  he  said,  unwisely. 

Jessica  was  as  quick  to  take  advantage  of 
the  opening  as  if  she  had  read  his  look. 

"  Were  you  personal  ?  I  am  afraid  I  was 
only  generalizing." 

He  bit  his  lip  in  momentary  vexation. 
Then  something  in  the  slightness  of  the 
girl  as  she  stood  before  him,  something 
spiritual  in  her  expression  as  she  raised  her 
eyes  to  his,  appealed  to  him  more  strongly 
than  anything  she  had  said  or  done.  He 
felt  that  as  a  man  he  had  not  been  just  to 
her,  a  woman.  They  had  come  into  each 
other's  power  only  to  feel  that  they  had 
begun  wrongly,  and  had  placed  each  other 
at  a  disadvantage.  Van  Buren's  fine  gener- 
osity made  him  put  something  of  this  into 
words. 

48 


A   STUDY    IN   HEARTS 

"  I  wish  we  might  begin  over,"  he  said, 
simply.  "  We  could  do  better." 

Jessica  recognized  instantly  what  he  had 
left  unsaid. 

"  No,"  she  said  ;  "  let  us  go  on  from  now. 
Only — "  she  hesitated  and  put  her  hand  in 
his — "only  do  not  believe  me  to  be  so 
clever  that  I  am  not  a  woman,  with  all  a 
woman's  helplessness." 


Ill 


Van  Buren  turned  away  from  the  touch 
of  Jessica's  fingers,  and  the  look  on  her  face 
more  nearly  conquered,  in  spite  of  all  his 
warnings,  than  he  would  have  believed  pos- 
sible. Her  personality  seemed  to  tingle  in 
the  innermost  recesses  of  his  being.  She 
touched  a  chord  he  did  not  know  he  pos- 
sessed. She  appealed  to  him.  Great  Heav- 
ens! how  it  appealed  to  a  man  sated  with 
commonplace  flattery  to  have  so  clever  a 
woman  lay  down  her  arms  at  the  outset  and 
beg  a  truce — a  truce  not  so  much  for  her 
own  protection  as  because  she  knew  it  was 
D  49 


A  STUDY   IN   HEARTS 

wasting  the  time  of  both  !  His  imagination, 
stirred  by  her  strange  beauty,  supplied  all 
that  she  had  not  said.  She  meant  him  to 
understand  that  fencing  would  be  so  futile, 
so  unworthy.  Why  should  they  not  mutu- 
ally capitulate  and  continue  to  explore  ? 

There  was  nothing  of  the  coquette  in  her 
appearance.  The  delicacy  of  her  womanli- 
ness, the  spirituality  of  her  mental  vision 
refuted  the  idea  of  the  coarseness  of  feeling 
which  the  word  implied.  She  had  stirred 
impulses  in  him  which  no  one  had  ever 
called  out  before.  She  had  appealed  to  the 
higher  nature  he  always  had  suspected  him- 
self of  possessing  but  never  had  been  able 
to  prove.  And  now  that  she  had  proved  it 
so  unwittingly  and  so  unconsciously  by  just 
permitting  him  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her 
sweet  woman's  soul,  gratitude  alone  would 
urge  him  to  respond— gratitude  and —  Hang 
it  all! — was  it  gratitude?  Wasn't  it  grati- 
fied vanity?  The  devil  take  it! — wasn't  it 
love? 

He  stopped  short  and  struck  his  stick  so 
sharply  upon  the  pavement  that  two  men  in 
front  of  him  looked  around. 
5° 


A   STUDY   IN   HEARTS 

"  Pay  no  attention  to  me,  gentlemen,"  he 
said  to  himself.  "  I  am  not  even  a  lunatic. 
I  am  only  an  ass." 


IV 


Left  alone,  Jessica  fled  to  her  room  and 
closed  the  door. 

"It's  come!"  she  said  to  herself,  pacing 
up  and  down  with  her  hands  wrenched  to- 
gether. "  It's  come  at  last — the  retribution 
I've  been  waiting  for.  I  knew  it  would 
overtake  me  some  time.  I've  warned  my- 
self too  many  times  to  shrink  now.  Oh, 
Frank  was  clever  ! — Frank  was  very  clever ! 
He  knew  me  better  than  I  thought.  He 
has  avenged  himself  already.  He  has  made 
me  meet  my  Fate,  knowing  perfectly  well 
that  I  never  could  penetrate  his  'armor. 
Now  it  is  my  turn.  Oh,  I  knew  it  would 
come  !  but  that  does  not  make  it  any  the 
less  hard.  I  ought  to  hate  Frank  for  it,  but 
I  don't.  I  am  glad  of  it.  I  am  glad  to 
have  known  this  man.  Now  that  does  not 
mean  that  I  have  any  hope— yes,  it  does, 


A   STUDY   IN    HEARTS 

too  !  It  means  that  I  think  I  shall  see  him 
again,  although  he  did  not  say  so.  It  means 
that  I  think  if  I  have  been  successful  with 
so  many,  many  others,  why  not  with  this 
one?  Oh,  but  he  is  not  like  the  others! 
He  is  not  like  any  one  I  ever  knew  before. 
That  is  just  what  Mrs.  Stanley  said.  She 
warned  me.  Everybody  warned  me.  Yet 
here  I  go,  blind  and  deaf,  insisting  on  my 
own  discomfiture,  fairly  overjoyed  at  the 
idea  that  I  am  going  to  be  made  a  fool  of, 
and  determined  not  to  draw  back  even  while 
I  can.  While  I  can,  did  I  say  ?  Why,  is  it 
not  too  late  already  ?  Could  I  ever  forget 
him  even  now?  From  this  time  on  must  he 
not  be  a  part  of  me,  only — I  must  remind 
myself — only  to  end  in  sorrow  and  distress 
for  me.  He  will  not  care.  He  is  an  older 
hand  at  it  than  I  am.  If  I  were  not  so 
despicable,  if  I  had  lived  my  life  as  nobly  as 
I  knew  how,  if  I  had  followed  the  highest, 
I  should  at  least  not  be  tortured  by  these 
doubts  and  apprehensions.  I  suppose  wom- 
en who  never  have  encouraged  a  love  they 
did  not  intend  to  return  never  dream  that 
an  honest  love  might  not  be  reciprocated. 
52 


A  STUDY  IN   HEARTS 

They  are  not  tortured  with  remorse.  They 
do  not  dread  that  the  fair  appearance  on 
the  man's  part  may  be  only  the  cloak  of 
trifling  of  which  they  so  often  have  made 
use  themselves.  What  a  fool  I  am  to  think 
that  he  will  care  for  me !  Look  at  poor 
Polly  Pope  and  all  the  others  !  I  am  only 
the  last  one.  In  three  months  from  now 
people  will  be  saying,  'There  was  Polly 
Pope  and  poor  Jessica  Drew !'  Oh, 
I  could  not  bear  that!  I  could  not! — I 
could  not !  How  noble  I  am  !  I  believe 
I  dread  what  people  would  say  more  than 
any  pain  I  might  suffer!  If  I  might  only 
suffer  in  private  and  have  no  one  know! 
Oh,  I  am  a  magnificent  creature !  Any 
man  ought  to  be  proud  of  my  love — it  is  so 
worthy,  so  lofty !" 

She  knelt  down  in  front  of  a  chair  and 
laid  her  head  on  her  folded  arms. 

"Yet,"  she  whispered,  "it's  in  me  to  be 
noble,  if  only  I  had  half  a  chance.  If  I 
loved  a  truly  good  man,  I  could  forget 
everything  and  be  different." 

She  sat  there  thinking  for  some  time.  It 
grew  dusk.  She  sprang  up  suddenly  and 
53 


A  STUDY   IN    HEARTS 

found  Mrs.  Stanley's  letter.  She  read  it 
over  deliberately  twice,  then  put  it  back  in 
the  envelope. 

"  That  settles  it,"  she  said,  aloud.  "  I  will 
at  least  have  the  courage  to  save  myself, 
now  that  I  can  reason  it  all  out.  Mrs. 
Stanley  is  at  Narragansett  Pier.  I'll  sur- 
prise her  by  accepting  her  invitation.  I'll 
go  to-morrow." 


Jessica  colored  under  her  veil  as  she  set- 
tled herself  in  the  train  the  next  day,  to  re- 
alize that  she  was  running  away — she,  Jes- 
sica Drew,  actually  running  away.  She  did 
not  feel  as  comfortable  as  one  should  when 
she  is  doing  her  duty  and  saving  herself 
from  a  palpable  danger.  Instead,  she  felt 
miserably  uncertain  and  reluctant  to  go. 
She  felt  that  she  had  been  foolish  to  be  so 
precipitate.  She  ought  to  have  waited  to 
see  him  just  once  more.  She  smiled  a  little 
bitterly  to  realize  that  she  was  only  cheat- 
ing herself,  and  that  the  reason  she  felt 
54 


A  STUDY   IN   HEARTS 

that  she  ought  to  have  seen  him  again  was 
just  because  she  wanted  to  see  him — yes, 
she  admitted  it  freely  to  herself — she  want- 
ed to  see  him  again,  more  than  anything 
else  in  the  world. 

As  the  train  rushed  on,  some  one  entered 
from  the  smoking-car.  She  looked  up  and 
encountered  Mr.  Van  Buren's  startled  gaze. 

He  hesitated  a  moment  palpably,  then 
came  and  sat  down  beside  her,  placing  her 
wrap  on  the  front  seat. 

"That  seat  was  mine,"  he  said,  with  a 
curious,  repressed  smile  of  self-derision. 

"  How  strange,"  murmured  Jessica,  "  that 
I  should  have  taken  this  one." 

"Not  at  all,"  he  answered,  grimly. 

Jessica  looked  up  at  him  timidly.  He  had 
not  once  looked  towards  her. 

"I  thought  you  meant  to  stay  in  town 
longer,"  she  said,  at  length. 

"  I  did.  I  came  away  very  suddenly.  I 
have  just  written  you  a  note  and  sent  you 
some  roses." 

He  seemed  to  hurl  these  admissions  at 
her.  Jessica  felt  a  wild  impulse  to  tele- 
graph that  the  note  and  roses  be  forwarded 
55 


A   STUDY   IN    HEARTS 

to  her.  She  could  not  bear  to  miss  the  first 
flowers  he  had  sent  to  her — in  all  probability 
the  only  flowers  he  would  ever  send. 

"Oh,  thank   you   so    much,"    she    said. 

U  J » 

"You  did  not  tell  me  yesterday  that  you 
intended  to  leave  town  to-day,"  he  inter- 
rupted her. 

"  Did  I  not  ?"  she  said,  carelessly,  regain- 
ing her  hold  upon  herself  as  she  saw  him 
losing  his.  Inside  her  frock  was  Mrs. 
Stanley's  letter,  which  she  had  brought 
to  brace  herself  with  if  she  found  herself 
weakening.  She  placed  her  hand  over 
it  and  heard  it  crackle.  She  wondered 
how  far  he  was  going.  She  felt  her  resolu- 
tion weakening.  It  was  so  good  to  be  near 
him  again.  He  was  such  a  power. 

"  I  am  going  to  Narragansett  Pier,"  he 
said,  presently.  "  I  suppose  you  are  going 
there  also?" 

Jessica  caught  her  breath  in  sudden  terror. 

"  No,"  she  said,  hurriedly,  "  I  am  going 
to  " —  where  in  Heaven's  name  was  her  Aunt 
Livingstone's  cottage  ? — "  I  am  going  to 
York  Harbor." 

56 


A   STUDY   IN    HEARTS 

"  But  this  is  not  the  train  for  York  Har- 
bor," he  said,  looking  at  her  for  the  first 
time,  his  man's  mind  driving  out  all  thought 
of  love  at  the  idea  of  a  woman's  having  got 
on  the  wrong  train. 

';  Oh !"  said  Jessica,  coloring  hotly.  "  Can 
my  father  have  made  a  mistake  ?  I  thought 
I  told  him  I  wanted  to  go  to  York  first." 

'•  Then  you  meant  to  go  to  Narragansett 
later?" 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Stanley  is  there." 

"  Then  go  to  her  first,"  he  said,  eagerly. 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Jessica.  "  I  must  go  to 
York  Harbor.  You  must  arrange  it  for  me. 
You  must  help  me.  My  aunt  is  expecting 
me." 

Her  eyes  fell  as  she  remembered  that  her 
aunt  at  that  very  moment  was  dangerously 
ill,  and  that  she  could  in  nowise  be  received 
there. 

"Give  yourself  no  uneasiness,  I  beg  of 
you,  Miss  Drew.  I  will  take  you  there  my- 
self," he  said. 

Jessica  laughed  a  little  hysterically. 

"You  must  do  no  such  thing,"  she  said. 
"  I  will  go  on  to  Narragansett." 
57 


A   STUDY   IN   HEARTS 

Van  Buren  was  chagrined  to  realize  what 
a  sweep  of  joy  those  words  gave  him.  He 
looked  down  at  her  flower-like  face  and  de- 
liberately gave  himself  up  to  the  current  of 
his  passion. 


VI 


It  was  the  curse  of  triflers  such  as  these 
that,  in  the  month  which  followed,  neither 
Jessica  nor  Van  Buren  could  take  all  the 
comfort  from  the  blissful  pastime  of  falling 
in  love  with  which  that  rapturous  occupa- 
tion is  usually  fraught.  Each  was  conscious 
of  his  own  sincerity  for  the  first  time.  Each 
constantly  doubted  the  other's.  Mrs.  Stan- 
ley was  overjoyed  beyond  words  to  express 
to  have  so  delicious  a  flirtation  brought  be- 
fore her  very  eyes,  and  unconsciously  she 
augmented  Jessica's  distrust  by  her  laughter, 
warnings,  hints,  advice,  all  put  in  so  clever 
a  way  that  Jessica  would  rather  have  died 
than  admit  the  truth. 

"  Jessica,  darling,"  Mrs.  Stanley  often 
said,  "  it  is  as  good  as  a  play.  I  never 
saw  such  acting.  I  never  should  dream  that 
58 


A  STUDY    IN    HEARTS 

he  was  not  desperately  in  love  with  you  if 
he  had  not  treated  poor  Polly  Pope  in  such 
a  manner.  I  believe  he  is  capable  of  any- 
thing. Go  on  with  it  though,  dearest.  You 
can  bring  him  to  his  knees  if  any  one  can. 
He  will  be  a  different  creature." 

"  I  can't  bear  to  hear  you  talk  that  way, 
Lucia,"  said  Jessica.  "  Suppose  we  are 
wrong  about  Polly  Pope  ?" 

"  I  know  it,  my  dear.  It  is  wicked  of  us. 
Oh,  what  if  some  one  should  ever  urge  my 
Georgie  to  flirt  as  I  have  urged  you  ?  Sup- 
pose we  stop  it  at  once  and  behave  our- 
selves ?  No  harm  has  been  done  as  yet." 

"  Of  course  no  harm  has  been  done  as 
yet !"  echoed  Jessica,  drearily. 

"  You  are  not  natural  with  him,  Jessica, 
darling.  You  sound  artificial  to  me,  who 
know  you  so  well.  He  must  be  clever 
enough  to  detect  it." 

"  I  dare  not  be  natural  with  him.  I  am 
on  my  guard  constantly,  lest  I  be  caught 
napping." 

"  It  must  be  a  great  bore,"  observed  Mrs. 
Stanley. 

They  all  went  back  to  town  together. 
59 


A   STUDY   IN    HEARTS 

To  Van  Buren  it  seemed  that  he  never 
could  leave  Jessica  voluntarily.  If  he  could 
have  believed  the  evidence  of  his  own 
senses,  he  would  have  ended  his  suspense 
long  ago,  but  the  words  of  his  friend,  Frank 
Fair,  kept  running  in  his  mind  with  fatal 
persistency.  "  Remember,  old  man,"  he  had 
said,  "  she  is  the  most  consummate  actress 
you  ever  met.  Everything  comes  from  her 
head.  I  never  yet  have  detected  an  act 
which  came  from  her  heart — if,  indeed,  she 
has  one." 

These  words  told  more  to  a  man  like 
Ramsay  Van  Buren  than  Frank  Fair 
dreamed,  and  it  was  on  account  of  them 
that  Van  Buren  remained  in  New  York, 
leaving  Jessica  to  return  to  her  home  with- 
out telling  her  that  he  loved  her. 

The  autumn  passed  away.  Van  Buren 
heard  of  her  at  Lenox  just  in  time  to  escape 
going  there  himself.  He  purposely  avoided 
Frank  Fair,  dreading  to  hear  any  more  on  a 
subject  which  was  rapidly  becoming  the 
main  issue  with  him. 

The  clay  before  Christmas  he  was  walk- 
ing down  Broadway,  thinking  how  absurd 
60 


A  STUDY   IN    HEARTS 

it  was  to  let  any  one  influence  him  in  a 
matter  which  Jessica  alone  could  settle. 
She  had  come  to  be  so  close  to  him,  so  high 
and  fine  since  he  had  left  her,  that  he  no 
longer  thought  of  anything  except  that  he 
wanted  her ;  he  wanted  her  in  his  life  more 
than  he  wanted  anything  else  in  the  world. 

He  suddenly  decided  to  go  to  see  her — 
to  go  that  very  day.  A  weight  seemed  lift- 
ed from  his  heart  the  moment  he  did  so. 
He  paused  on  the  corner  of  Twenty-third 
Street  to  light  his  cigarette.  A  chill,  eager 
wind  swept  up  the  street  and  blew  out  the 
match.  He  pulled  up  his  fur  collar  and 
tried  again.  Again  the  match  went  out. 
He  tried  a  third  time  with  the  same  result. 
With  an  exclamation  of  impatience  he 
flung  down  his  last  match  and  moved  on, 
when  a  little  newsboy,  with  a  shrewd,  merry 
face,  lighted  a  match  which  burned  bravely 
in  spite  of  the  wind  and  held  it  up,  hopping 
backwards  in  front  of  him  and  saying: 

"  Please,  mister,  lemme  light  yer  cigarette 
for  yer !  Please,  mister,  lemme  light  yer 
cigarette  for  yer !" 

The  boy  looked  as  if  ready  to  dodge  a 
61 


A   STUDY   IN   HEARTS 

blow,  but  he  persisted  in  his  attentions,  un- 
til Van  Buren,  with  a  laugh,  stooped  and 
took  the  match.  As  he  did  so,  another  and 
daintier  laugh  fell  upon  his  ear,  and  there 
stood  Jessica  Drew  beside  him,  the  snow- 
flakes  standing  out  in  crystals  upon  her  vel- 
vet and  fur  coat. 

"You  here!"  he  exclaimed,  in  delight. 
"  I  was  just  going  to  run  down  to  see  you." 

"  Were  you  ?  Well,  I  have  saved  you 
the  trouble,  for  I  am  here.  I  came  up  to 
spend  Christmas  with  Mrs.  Stanley.  She 
goes  to  California  on  the  3d." 

He  turned  to  walk  along  with  her,  his 
eyes  devouring  the  lovely  tints  of  her  face 
and  hair,  not  noticing  that  the  little  news- 
boy was  still  hopping  along  backwards  in 
front  of  them,  smoking  the  cigarette  he  had 
snatched  ere  it  reached  the  sidewalk,  his 
shrewd  blue  eyes  glued  to  their  rapt  faces. 

Jessica  was  the  first  to  see  him. 

"  Why,  look  at  the  child !"  she  exclaimed. 
"  His  shoes  are  so  worn  his  feet  are  almost 
upon  the  ground !" 

"  And  to-morrer's  Christmas,  loidy,"  he 
flashed,  with  the  quickness  of  the  gamin. 
62 


A   STUDY   IN   HEARTS 

"  So  it  is,  my  boy,"  said  Van  Buren. 
"  Take  this  and  buy  yourself  some  shoes." 

"  Not  on  yer  life,  mister.  I'll  take  it  home 
to  me  mudder,  if  yer  don't  mind." 

"  The  dear  child,"  murmured  Jessica. 

"  The  little  rascal,"  murmured  Van  Buren. 

"  Is  it  a  trick  ?"  she  whispered. 

"  Nearly  everything  is,"  he  answered. 

She  bent  over  the  boy  and  spoke  to  him. 

"Mrs.  Stanley's  carriage  is  waiting  for 
me,"  she  said.  "  There,  I  see  it !  Can  you 
attract  Summers's  attention  ?  Thank  you 
so  much." 

"  Shall  you  be  at  home  this  afternoon  ? 
No?  To-morrow?  May  I  come  for  an 
hour  on  Christmas  Day  ?" 

"  Yes,  do.  We  shall  be  so  glad  to  see 
you." 

Something  in  Jessica's  eyes  went  to  his 
heart.  When  he  had  seen  her  drive  away, 
Van  Buren  hailed  a  cab  and  collared  the 
newsboy. 

"  Come  here,  you  young  rascal !"  he  cried, 

in  an  exuberance  of  joy  which  none  of  his 

friends  would  have  recognized.  "Get  in  here 

with  your  papers  and  your  everlasting  match- 

63 


A  STUDY   IN   HEARTS 

es,  and  your  tricks  and  your  knowledge  of 
humanity,  and  let  us  make  a  call  upon  that 
mother  of  yours  !  I  suppose  she  is  sick  ?  No  ? 
She  wants  coal,  doesn't  she  ?  I  thought  so. 
I  suppose  she  has  nine  children,  all  smaller 
than  you  ?  No  ?  Only  three  ?  How  mod- 
erate for  a  poor  woman,  who  might  have  so 
many  more  !  I  suppose  your  father  drinks  ? 
No  ?  Dead,  is  he  ?  I  am  surprised  at  him. 
He  ought  to  be  alive  and  drinking.  Are 
you  going  to  have  a  Christmas-tree  to-mor- 
row? No?  How  dare  you  lie  to  me  like 
that !  I  say  you  are  going  to  have  one  !  And 
a  Christmas-dinner  besides,  with  turkey  and 
oysters  and  ice-cream,  and  I  want  you  to 
eat  until  you  burst,  do  you  hear  me?  Will 
you  promise  to  burst  ?" 

The  boy  roared  out  with  delight. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  pleased,  you  young 
imp,  to  think  how  you  are  taking  me  in.  I 
don't  believe  you  have  any  mother  or  three 
small  sisters.  I  believe  your  mother  is 
wealthy  and  that  your  father  belongs  to 
the  Church.  I  know  you  are  chuckling  to 
think  what  a  snap  you  have  ;  but,  do  you 
know,  I  don't  in  the  least  care  whether  you 
64 


A  STUDY   IN   HEARTS 

are  lying  or  not  ?  Do  you  know,  I  am  bound 
to  give  coal  and  a  Christmas-tree  and  a 
Christmas -dinner  to  somebody,  and  that 
you  are  going  to  be  that  somebody?  And 
do  you  know  why  ?" 

"It's  all  along  of  der  loidy,"  said  the 
boy. 

"  Guessed  it  the  first  time,"  said  Van 
Buren.  "  Go  up  head.  '  It's  all  along  of 
der  loidy.'  And  if  I  ever  do  another  thing 
of  this  kind,  which  might  well  alarm  my 
friends  for  my  sanity,  it  will  be  '  all  along  of 
der  loidy.'  If  I  ever  amount  to  anything 
in  this  world,  boy,  or  if  I  go  to  the  devil,  it 
will  be  '  all  along  of  der  loidy.'  " 

"  Here  we  are,  sir." 

"  Lord,  what  a  place !"  cried  Van  Buren, 
as  he  followed  the  boy  into  a  dark  doorway. 


VII 

On  Christmas  Day,  too  early  in  the  morn- 
ing for   Ramsay  Van   Buren  to  dream  of 
meeting  any  of  his  friends,  he  again  betook 
himself   to    the    same    dark   doorway,  and 
E  65 


A  STUDY   IN   HEARTS 

amid  the  clamoring  of  the  three  children, 
whom  the  boy  Tom  had  not  lied  about,  he 
began  to  set  up  the  most  astonishing  of 
Christmas-tcees. 

"  I  don't  exactly  know  what  is  the  matter 
with  me,  Mrs.  O'Reilly,  but  I  really  feel  as 
if  I  could  help  you  to  order  your  Christ- 
mas-dinner. I  am  very  fond  of  cake  with 
my  ice-cream.  Have  you  any  cake,  Mrs. 
O'Reilly  ?  No  ?  Then  will  you  kindly  step 
around  to  the  bakery  and  buy  one,  with  a 
great  deal  of  icing  on  top,  and — and  any- 
thing else  you  may  see,  Mrs.  O'Reilly.  And 
if  you  would  be  kind  enough  to  take  the 
children  with  you  and  buy  them  some  candy 
— buy  them  plenty,  to  make  themselves  ill, 
Mrs.  O'Reilly ;  it  will  not  be  a  successful 
Christmas  without  getting  ill — it  will  save 
the  baby's  having  to  eat  those  raw  cranber- 
ries, which  she  is  now  proceeding  to  do ; 
besides  giving  me  time  to  get  these  pres- 
ents on  the  tree,"  he  added  to  himself,  as 
the  four  went  out,  laughing  and  calling 
down  Irish  blessings  on  his  head. 

"Where  in  the  deuce  shall  I  put  these 
things?"  he  said,  helplessly,  holding  some 
66 


A   STUDY   IN   HEARTS 

large  red  popcorn-balls  up  by  a  suspiciously 
slender  string. 

A  slight  rustling  in  the  doorway  made 
him  say  : 

"  I  feel  that  I  must  have  some  help,  Mrs. 
O'Reilly—" 

"  I  am  not  Mrs.  O'Reilly,"  said  a  voice, 
"  but—" 

He  turned  suddenly,  and  saw  Jessica's 
beautiful  face  over  the  top  of  her  bundles. 

"Jessica!"  he  exclaimed,  dropping  his 
sticky  burden  and  taking  her  bundles  from 
her,  with  a  face  so  full  of  delight  in  her 
presence  that  she  colored  beautifully,  and 
under  his  gaze  the  tears  gathered  in  her 
eyes.  She  looked  up  at  him. 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  murmured.  "  I  have 
been  so  unjust  to  you." 

He  held  out  his  arms  to  her. 

"  Will  you  love  me  if  I  forgive  you  ?" 

"  I  love  you  now,"  she  said,  simply.  "  I 
have  loved  you  for  a  long  time." 

He  drew   in  his    breath    sharply  at   the 

royal  simplicity  of  her  admission.     He  had 

expected  to  be  obliged  to  use  every  art  to 

coax  the  assurance  from  her  which  her  eyes 

67 


A  STUDY  IN   HEARTS 

had  given  him  the  day  before.  He  had  ex- 
pected— Heaven  only  knows  what  he  had 
expected. 

"  You  have  loved  me,  Jessica  ?  Oh,  why 
didn't  I  know  it  ?  You  have  made  me  so 
unhappy,  Jessica.  Why  didn't  you  tell 
me  ?" 

"  Why,  how  could  I  tell  you  ?  You  never 
asked  me.  You  never  trusted  me.  I  never 
could  be  myself  before  you.  You  prevented 
my  coming  here  when  I  left  you,  for  fear 
you  would  think  my  charity  but  another 
wile.  I  have  hardly  dared  to  be  as  good  as 
I  wanted  to  be  since  I  knew  you !" 

"  Oh,  Jessica,  how  charming  you  are ! 
But  how  much  time  we  have  wasted !" 

"  We  have  not  wasted  a  moment.  We 
never  could  have  arrived  at  this  stage  if  we 
had  not  been  looking  at  ourselves  through 
each  other's  eyes.  Then,  too,  I  never  dared 
let  myself  go  after  what  I  heard  of  poor 
Polly  Pope." 

"  '  Poor  Polly  Pope '  happens  to  be  en- 
gaged to  an  imbecile  millionnaire  just  at 
present.  Did  you  believe  that  I  was  en- 
gaged to  her?  I  never  was.  She  could 
68 


A   STUDY   IN    HEARTS 

have  stopped  the  talk  in  a  moment  if  she 
only  would,  /could  say  nothing." 

"  I  knew  you  could  explain  it!"  she  cried. 
"  I  felt  that  most  positively  when  I  saw  you 
yesterday." 

"  Was  that  why  you  looked  at  me  when  I 
closed  the  carriage  door  ?" 

"  Did  I  look  at  you  ?"  murmured  Jessica. 

"  Did  you  look  at  me  ?  I  wonder  if  a 
woman  ever  looks  at  a  man  like  that  with- 
out being  conscious  of  it  ?  So  you  have  be- 
lieved in  me  since  yesterday  ?" 

"  And  that  is  longer  than  you  have  be- 
lieved in  me,  by  twenty-four  hours." 

"  I  told  you  yesterday  when  I  saw  you 
that  I  had  just  decided  to  run  down  to 
see  you.  Of  course  you  knew  what  that 
meant." 

"  It  meant  that  you  had  determined  to 
allow  yourself  to  love  me  in  spite  of  all  you 
had  heard — in  spite  of  everything.  You 
did  not  really  believe  in  me  until  just  now 
— until  I  told  you  that  I — " 

"That  you  loved  me!  Oh,  Jessica,  dear 
Jessica !" 

"  It's  true !  That  is  what  I  told  you. 
69 


A   STUDY   IN    HEARTS 

How  helpless  a  man  is  when  he  depends 
on  reason  !  I  hadfaitA  in  you." 

"  No,  no,  dear  love.  I  was  afraid  of  you, 
that  was  all.  I  had  heard  so  much  about 
poor  Frank  Fair  and  the  others.  All  the 
fellows  who  hadn't  been  in  love  with  you 
were  just  going  to  be.  Everybody  warned 
me.  I  never  dared  hope  that  you  could 
care  for  me.  I  don't  deserve  you,  Jessica. 
I  can  only  say  that  I  have  loved  you  from 
the  first  time  I  ever  saw  you,  more  and 
more  every  minute  and  every  hour,  until 
even  you,  who  have  been  loved  by  so  many, 
should  be  satisfied." 

"  Don't  talk  about  the  others,"  she  mur- 
mured. "They  have  made  us  trouble 
enough.  Think  only  that  you  love  me  and 
that  I  love  you  !" 

"  I  got  onions,  Misther  Van  Buren,"  cried 
a  voice  on  the  stairs,  "  thinkin'  you  might 
enjoy  the  taste  of  an  onion  this  blessed 
Christmas  Day." 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  O'Reilly,  it  isn't  ex- 
actly onions  that  my  mind  is  fixed  on  to- 
day. This  is  Miss  Drew — " 

"  Bless  her  dear  face,  she  was  here  yes- 
70 


A   STUDY   IN   HEARTS 

terday  after  you  left !  I  just  know  her  to 
be  God's  own  angel." 

"  Indeed,  Mrs.  O'Reilly,  you  are  a  wo- 
man of  wonderful  discernment.  Where  is 
Tommy  ?" 

"  Tommy  is  sick,  sor,  wid  the  candy." 

"  Good.  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  That 
makes  Christmas  quite  complete  —  that, 
and  what  has  just  happened  to  me.  As 
soon  as  you  feel  better,  Tommy,  eat  some 
more  and  get  sick  again.  If  you  have  to 
have  a  doctor,  I'll  pay  for  him  most  cheer- 
fully. I  couldrrt  invest  my  money  better." 

"  Well,  saints  preserve  us,"  said  Mrs. 
O'Reilly,  when  Jessica  and  Van  Buren 
were  gone,  "  did  you  ever  see  such  a  free- 
handed gintlemin  ?  Offering  to  pay  the 
doctor  so  handsome.  What  a  pity  one  of 
us  couldn't  be  took  sick  to-day  instead  of 
last  week !  Ah,  he  is  a  foine  man." 

"  It's  all  along  of  der  loidy,"  said  Tom- 
my, uncoiling  himself  in  his  corner. 

Mrs.  O'Reilly  hung  out  of  her  window. 

"  They  come  in  two  carriages,"  she  said, 
"  but  they  wint  away  in  wan." 


THE   HEART   OF  BRIER   ROSE 


THE   HEART  OF   BRIER   ROSE 


THE  Weeping  Willow  telegraph  -  office 
faced  the  level  prairie.  Up  and  down  be- 
fore it,  like  shining  ribbons,  lay  the  rail- 
road tracks,  converging  mysteriously  until 
distance  blended  them  into  one.  Back  of 
it  flared  the  wide  main  street,  with  stores 
and  cottages  indiscriminately  mingled, 
which  marks  the  disconsolate  prairie  town. 
Beyond,  enclosed  by  a  white  picket-fence, 
straggled  the  desolate  graveyard.  Some 
sorry-looking  brutes,  with  down-hung  heads 
and  burrs  in  their  tails,  were  hitched  in  front 
of  the  post-office.  For  the  rest,  there  was 
the  vastness  and  lonely  boundlessness  of  the 
never-ending  prairie.  Mounted  guard  over 
this  living  finger-post,  quivered  the  remote 
75 


THE   HEART  OF  BRIER   ROSE 

sky,  with  its  unblinking  Cyclops  eye.  It 
was  a  barren  and  meagre  settlement  of  fam- 
ilies from  other  states,  casting  their  lots  to- 
gether to  make  a  scanty  whole,  and  fore- 
casting their  dreary  life's  end  by  naming 
their  village  Weeping  Willow.  The  only 
thing  in  plenty  which  Nature  supplied  was 
room.  There  was  an  abundance  of  space. 
It  was  quite  a  walk  to  cross  the  street. 
Neighbors'  houses  stood  aloof.  Nobody 
was  crowded,  even  in  the  graveyard. 

The  telegraph  -  operator,  satiated  with 
landscape,  leaned  back,  stretched  himself 
prodigiously,  yawned  audibly,  and  collapsed 
in  his  chair,  which  creaked  in  vexed  remon- 
strance. He  tossed  a  remark  over  his 
shoulder.  "  So  this  is  what  you  are  yearnin' 
fur,  Dave  ?" 

Dave  took  his  cane,  and,  limping  to  the 
door,  viewed  the  inertness  in  silence.  Then 
he  roused  himself,  and  said,  cheerfully  : 

"  A  telegraph- operator  is  all  I'm  good  fur 
since  I  got  hurt.  Thankful  enough  I'll  be 
if  I  get  the  Red  Valley  job. .  I'd  like  to  be 
so  near  to  you,  Joe." 

"  Seems  like  the  comp'ny  might  have  done 
76 


THE   HEART  OF  BRIER   ROSE 

more  for  you  when  you  got  smashed  up  in 
their  own  accident.  'Twouldn't  have  hurt 
'em  none  to  keep  you  as  conductor,"  grum- 
bled his  friend. 

"  How  could  a  lame  man  be  a  con- 
ductor?" returned  Dave,  with  his  unfailing 
good-humor. 

"  A  railroad  company  is  a  measly  concern 
on  the  pay  act,"  observed  Joe,  gloomily. 

Suddenly  the  afternoon  stillness  was 
broken  by  excited  voices,  and  the  sharp 
barking  and  yapping  of  dogs.  Joe  brought 
his  feet  to  the  floor  in  a  hurry. 

"  I  can't  leave  the  machine,  Dave.  Go 
and  see  what  the  rumpus  is  about.  I'll  bet 
Brier  Rose  is  up  to  somethin'.  It  takes 
that  there  girl  to  stir  up  the  boys.  No, 
Foxy,"  he  said  to  his  terrier,  who  was  whirl- 
ing around  in  an  ecstasy  of  anticipation, 
"you  stay  here.  If  Brier  Rose  is  at  the 
bottom  of  it,  a  little  feller  like  you  might 
get  lost  in  the  shuffle." 

Dave   obediently   limped  up  the  street, 

where,  m  the  midst  of  a  crowd  of  rough 

men,  stood  a  girl  holding  some  little  animal 

high  above  her  head,  while  the  dogs  leaped 

77 


THE   HEART  OF   BRIER    ROSE 

and  snapped  around  her.  The  men  were 
laughing  and  keeping  the  dogs  partly  in 
check.  The  girl,  with  scarlet  cheeks,  begged 
and  scolded  and  threatened  them  all,  to 
their  infinite  amusement. 

"  Call  off  your  dawg,  Jim !"  she  said, 
fiercely,  to  the  owner  of  the  largest,  whose 
leaps  sometimes  almost  reached  the  quiver- 
ing little  object  in  her  hands. 

"  Throw  down  the  beast  an'  I  will,"  he 
answered. 

She  turned  her  flashing  eyes  on  him.  "If 
that  there  dawg  gives  another  jump,  I'll 
pizen  him  before  sun-up,"  she  said,  slowly. 

Jim  made  a  lunge  for  the  dog,  and  sat  on 
him  to  keep  him  down,  while  the  crowd 
hooted  in  derision  of  his  obedience. 

"  What's  all  this  ?"  cried  Dave,  coming  up 
and  pushing  his  way  through  their  midst. 

"  Brier  Rose  is  bein'  held  up !"  cried  a 
voice. 

The  crowd  yelled  with  delight.  The  girl's 
whole  face  became  white  with  rage  as  she 
singled  out  the  speaker. 

"  You'll  pay  for  that,  Ben  Miles,  as  you've 
paid  before,"  she  said. 
78 


THE   HEART  OF  BRIER   ROSE 

Again  they  shouted  at  some  recollection. 
Even  Brier  Rose  condescended  to  laugh, 
angry  as  she  was,  and  Ben  subsided. 

"Call  off  those  brutes,"  cried  Dave,  rap- 
ping the  nearest  dog  with  his  cane.  "  For 
shame,  to  tease  a  woman  !" 

"  Look  a-hyer,  stranger,"  said  a  young 
giant,  menacingly.  He  towered  above  Dave, 
who  stood  his  ground. 

"  I'm  lame,  and  no  account  in  a  fight," 
said  Dave,  "but  half  a  man  ain't  goin'  to 
see  a  woman  tormented." 

"Who  in  thunder — "  began  his  threat- 
ener,  but  Ben  Miles  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Hold  on,  Jim,"  he  said ;  "  that  there's 
Dave  Comstock,  conductor  of  the  smashed- 
up  No.  7." 

"  Not  the  feller  that  got  hurt  savin'  the 
baby?" 

"  The  same." 

"  Sho,  stranger !"  said  the  mollified  Jim. 
"You're  welcome  to  interfere.  Give  us  yer 
hand.  We  wouldn't  hurt  her  fur  nothin'. 
Bless  my  stars !  Brier  Rose  can  take  care  of 
herself  better'n  most  men." 

"  You  see,  it's  seldom  we  git  a  chance  to 
79 


THE   HEART   OF  BRIER   ROSE 

git  even,"  explained  Ben  Miles,  as  the  men 
closed  around  Dave  to  shake  hands. 

"  Get  even  fur  what?" 

"  Fur  what  ?  Lord,  stranger,  you  must 
come  from  parts  unknown !  Fur  everything ! 
Ther'  ain't  a  man  in  Weepin'  Wilier  but 
what's  been  sassed  by  Brier  Rose.  Sassed  ? 
Lord !  I  should  say  so.  But  we  wouldn't 
hurt  her  none.  Stranger,  lemme  give  you 
an  advise :  don't  you  worry  none  about  Brier 
Rose  !" 

The  crowd  roared.  The  dogs  were  all 
held  now,  and  the  girl  put  her  tired  arms 
down.  She  looked  curiously  at  this  man, 
whose  brave  story  she  knew  by  heart,  as  she 
heard  him  defend  her.  To  be  sure,  she  had 
been  defended  before ;  there  was  hardly  a 
man  who  would  not  have  risked  his  life  to 
save  hers,  but  they  teased  her  unmercifully 
whenever  they  got  the  chance.  Dave's  in- 
terference was  on  a  new  line.  She  did  not 
quite  understand  it,  but  it  appealed  to  her  at 
once.  She  wrapped  her  apron  around  the 
little  animal,  and  with  a  new  sensation 
stirring  at  her  heart  Brier  Rose  slipped 
away. 

80 


THE   HEART  OF  BRIER   ROSE 

When  Dave  went  back  to  the  station  to 
tell  Joe,  the  latter  roared  with  delight. 

"Just  like  her!  Edzackly  like  her!"  he 
cried,  slapping  his  leg  so  inhumanly  that 
his  lame  friend  winced  for  him. 

"  Who  is  Brier  Rose  ?"  he  repeated,  in  an- 
swer to  Dave's  question.  "  You  don't  know 
much  if  you  don't  know  old  Bryan's  daugh- 
ter. She's  the  best-known  girl  from  Horse- 
shoe Gap  to  Powder  Crik.  Old  Bryan's  been 
engineer  on  the  road  ever  since  the  track 
was  laid.  There's  them  that  can  remember 
his  takin'  the  child  with  him  on  the  engine 
when  she  was  a  little  mite  of  a  thing.  All 
eyes  she  was  then,  as  she  is  now.  What 
wasn't  eyes  was  temper.  Same  now,  savin 
that  now  she  bosses  the  boys  in  addition  to 
old  Bryan.  She  can  run  an  engine  with  the 
best  of  'em.  Bryan's  taught  her  all  the 
tricks,  and  he  thinks  the  sun  rises  and  sets 
for  just  her.  Sharp  as  chain -lightnin',  is 
Brier  Rose,  an'  prickly  as  a  cactus.  All  the 
boys  been  touched  in  the  head  about  her  at 
one  time  or  another,  but  she  sasses  the  hull 
of  'em.  It's  my  belief  that  she'll  wipe  the 
earth  with  Ben  Miles  for  that  there  '  Brier 
F  81 


THE  HEART  OF  BRIER  ROSE 

Rose  is  bein'  held  up.'  He'll  wisht  he  was 
dead  before  she  gits  through  with  him.  You 
hear  me  !"  And  Joe's  noisy  mirth  made  the 
windows  rattle. 

"  Strange  she  would  defend  a  gopher, 
when  she's  so  hard  on  the  boys,"  observed 
Dave. 

"That's  just  it!  That's  Brier  Rose! 
She's  got  more  tame  pets  !  She's  friendlier 
with  every  beast  in  Weepin'  Wilier  than 
with  any  of  the  boys.  She's  just  that 
curious.  She  ain't  even  got  a  head  fur  any- 
body but  old  Bryan — you  notice  I  make  no 
mention  of  heart  concernin'  Brier  Rose ;  I 
don't  keer  to  talk  of  what  she  ain't  got — 
and  just  now  she's  specially  bewitched  about 
him.  After  keepin'  straight  for  forty  years, 
he's  taken  to  drink.  The  girl  knows  he'll 
lose  his  job  if  the  company  gets  wind  of  it, 
and  she  watches  him  like  a  hawk.  Many's 
the  time  she's  made  his  night  run  with  him, 
for  fear  he'd  lose  his  head.  It's  only  at 
times  he  goes  on  a  tear,  and  she  knows  the 
signs.  Brier  Rose  is  proud  as  Lucy  Fire, 
and  knows  how  to  keep  her  mouth  shut 
(which  the  same  I  can't  say  for  most  women ; 
82 


THE   HEART  OF  BRIER   ROSE 

wisht  I  could) ;  but  we  all  know  about  it, 
and  look  out  for  her." 

"  What's  Bryan's  run  ?" 

"  Horseshoe  to  Powder  Crik.  She  knows 
every  inch  of  track  and  siding.  And  I 
wisht  you  could  see  her  handle  the  critter. 
She  knows  all  Bryan  does,  and  she's  a  heap 
sight  quicker  calc'latin'  than  the  old  man. 
She  can  tell  about  how  fast  any  train's  goin' 
if  it  just  runs  by  her,  or  if  she's  on  it — either 
one.  It's  wuth  while  to  see  her  oil  and 
clean  the  machine.  She  goes  over  it  spry 
as  a  kitten." 

"  She's  handsome,"  said  Dave,  simply. 

"  Humph  !  Handsome  is  as  handsome 
does,"  observed  Joe,  grumpily.  "  She's  cold 
as  ice  and  hard  as  a  rock.  It's  my  belief  that 
she  'ain't  got  no  heart  same  as  other  wimmin. 
And  as  to  love!  Whew!  Standoff!  There's 
a  touch-me-not  for  you !  And  sassy?  Lord!" 

"All  the  boys  been  touched  in  the  head 
about  her,  I  believe  you  said,"  remarked 
Dave,  mischievously. 

Joe  hitched  at  his  left  suspender  uncom- 
fortably and  slowly  reddened.     "Nigh  about 
— nigh  about,"  he  said,  hastily. 
83 


THE   HEART  OF  BRIER   ROSE 

Dave  looked  down  the  glistening  tracks, 
which  seemed  to  stretch  imploringly  into 
the  future.  "  I  hope  I'll  get  the  Red  Val- 
ley job,"  he  said,  abruptly. 

In  spite  of  what  he  had  heard — or,  per- 
haps, because  of  what  he  had  heard,  for  who 
has  language  subtle  enough  to  follow  the  in- 
tricate pathway  of  a  human  soul?— all  things, 
even  the  melancholy  town  itself,  grew  rose- 
colored  to  Dave's  sunny  eyes.  With  his 
usual  unfailing  cheerfulness,  he  waited 
hopefully  for  news  of  his  appointment  at 
Red  Valley,  and  hovered,  as  if  fascinated, 
around  engine  Forty-four. 

Neither  the  boys  nor  old  Bryan  were 
slow  to  notice  this,  the  latter  having  accept- 
ed such  attentions  periodically  from  all  the 
young  men.  It  was  so  inevitable  a  proceed- 
ing that,  up  to  the  time  of  the  Middleton's 
dance,  they  paid  no  attention  to  it.  But 
that  night  something  extraordinary  hap- 
pened. 

The  next  day,  as  Brier  Rose  rode  down 
the  street  on  her  hardy  Texas  pony,  the 
boys  gathered  around  her  eagerly,  notwith- 
standing the  fact  that  she  had  a  stout  little 
84 


THE   HEART  OF  BRIER   ROSE 

whip  in  her  hand.  They  had  something 
new  and  strange  to  tease  her  about. 

"  Brier  Rose,"  called  out  Jim,  as  she  drew 
rein,  "you  don't  care  nothin'  about  dancin', 
do  you  ?" 

"You'd  ruther  set  all  the  evenin',  wouldn't 
you,  now  ?" 

"  D'you  like  the  name  o'  Dave,  or  do  you 
reckon  you'd  ruther  have  Comstock?" 

Rose  looked  from  one  to  the  other  as  the 
bottled-up  taunts  fell  rapidly  upon  her  ears, 
her  cheeks  and  lips  growing  scarlet.  For 
once  her  ready  tongue  failed  her.  Small 
need  to  ask  them  what  they  meant.  Too 
well  she  knew.  But  was  her  subjugation 
apparent  in  such  a  trifle  ?  And  so  soon  ? 
And  Dave,  as  yet,  had  said  nothing.  Oh, 
shame!  shame  !  Her  eyes  smouldered  dan- 
gerously, yet  with  all  her  gathering  fury 
there  was  an  odd  fluttering  in  her  white 
throat  and  a  cruel  pain  at  her  heart.  Em- 
boldened by  her  silence,  they  went  further. 

"  What  does  he  say  about  it  ?" 

She  thought  she  detected  the  mockery  of 
the  question,  being  all  unaware  of  Dave's 
interest  in  the  Forty-four.  The  shamed 
85 


THE    HEART  OF  BRIER    ROSE 

crimson  leaped  to  her  very  temples  and 
receded,  leaving  her  face  pitifully  white. 
The  boys  must  know  that  poor  Brier  Rose 
was  ready  to  be  plucked  before  she  was 
sought,  or  they  would  not  dare  to  speak  of 
it !  Her  wounded  pride  now  panted  for  but 
one  thing — a  way  out.  She  saw  him  coming 
down  the  street. 

"  Do  you  love  him  ?  Say,  Brier  Rose,  do 
you  love  Dave  ?"  cried  the  one  farthest  from 
her  whip. 

Her  courage  came  back  at  Dave's  ap- 
proach, and  the  spell  of  her  unwonted  si- 
lence was  broken.  She  laughed  scornfully 
as  she  saw  that  he  had  heard  the  question 
and  had  involuntarily  paused  for  her  reply. 

"  Do  I  love  him  ?"  she  cried,  looking  him 
fairly  in  the  face.  "  I  come  nearer  to  hatin' 
him  !" 

She  turned  her  horse  sharply,  and  the 
blows  the  boys  had  expected  fell  on  her  fiery 
little  Texan.  He  craned  his  neck  and  went 
up  the  street  on  a  dead  run ;  but  fast  as 
Rose  flew,  the  grieved  look  in  Dave  Com- 
stock's  blue  eyes  kept  pace  with  her. 


86 


THE   HEART  OF  BRIER    ROSE 

That  night  Joe  fidgeted  around,  unable 
to  decide  whether  or  not  he  should  speak  to 
Dave  about  the  occurrence  of  the  afternoon. 
Dave's  genial  smile  and  cheery  hopefulness 
were  gone.  He  sat  with  his  face  buried  in 
his  folded  arms. 

Joe  drove  his  hands  deep  into  his  pockets, 
and  strode  up  and  down  the  room  stormily. 
Finally  he  burst  out  with  : 

"  Dave,  don't  mind  it,  old  feller.  I  told 
you  she  hadn't  a  heart  for  a  man ;  she 
wastes  it  all  on  dumb  brutes.  She  ain't 
worth  grievin'  after.  I'm  sorry  you  ever 
saw  her.  You're  not  ?  Well,  of  course,  if 
you  feel  that-a-way,  I've  nothin'  more  to  say. 
Only,  Dave,  my  boy,  you're  too  good  for 
her." 

"  No,  no,  Joe,  don't  say  that.  We're  none 
of  us  good  enough  for  a  woman  when  it 
comes  to  that.  I  don't  blame  her.  Of 
course  I'm  lame,  and  you  can't  expect  a 
woman  to  love  a  lame  man  when  there  are 
so  many  others,  can  you,  Joe  ?" 

Joe  coughed  noisily,  but  said  nothing. 
Dave  looked  down  at  his  poor,  maimed 
foot. 

87 


THE   HEART  OF  BRIER   ROSE 

"  Joe,  do  you  know  that  little  baby  I  saved 
from  the  wreck  had  brown  eyes  like  Brier 
Rose  ?  I  remember  the  baby  smiled  when 
I  held  it  out  to  the  men.  You  know  my 
foot  was  caught  and  I  couldn't  move.  I've 
never  seen  Brier  Rose  smile  at  me  that  way. 
If  I  had  saved  her,  perhaps  she  would.  Do 
you  think  so,  Joe  ?" 

***** 

At  home,  Rose  was  thinking  of  the  story 
of  Dave's  bravery  in  the  wrecked  train,  of 
the  lives  he  had  saved,  of  his  defence  of 
her.  And  to-day,  in  return,  she  had  mocked 
him.  Ay,  if  the  look  he  gave  her  spoke  truly, 
she  had  cut  him  to  the  heart.  Tears — tears 
in  the  eyes  of  Brier  Rose  ! 


II 


The  position  of  telegraph-operator  at  Red 
Valley  was  given  to  Dave  Comstock.  The 
afternoon  freight,  heavily  loaded,  had  just 
pulled  clumsily  out  of  the  Weeping  Willow 
station,  with  Dave  on  the  rear  platform  of  the 
way-car.  Joe  waved  his  hat  to  him  from  the 
88 


THE    HEART  OF   BRIER   ROSE 

window,  and  Brier  Rose,  from  the  cab  of 
the  Forty -four,  looked  wistfully  after  him, 
and  shook  her  shining  hair  over  her  eyes  to 
hide  their  dimness. 

The  Forty-four,  having  come  down  on  the 
rear  of  the  freight  as  second  engine,  now 
stood  on  the  siding,  waiting  to  go  back  to 
Horseshoe  for  the  midnight  express.  Old 
Bryan  was  up  in  a  crowd  of  men  in  front  of 
the  post-office.  Brier  Rose  watched  him  anx- 
iously. As  long  as  he  kept  away  from  The 
Owl  she  felt  easy.  He  knew  she  was  watch- 
ing him.  He  also  knew  that  she  would  not 
hesitate  to  come  after  him  if  The  Owl  proved 
too  strong  an  attraction.  Therefore  he  kept 
away. 

Joe  stood  in  the  doorway,  and  admired 
Brier  Rose  against  his  will.  He  still  was 
sore  at  heart  over  his  friend,  and  fear  of 
getting  the  worst  of  it  alone  prevented  him 
from  giving  that  girl  a  piece  of  his  mind. 

She  trod  fearlessly  along  the  side  of  the 
boiler,  rubbing  the  hand-rail  with  a  black, 
oil-sodden  cloth.  She  touched  the  engine 
as  if  she  loved  it.  Every  part  of  it  shone 
like  the  sun.  Her  long-pointed  oil-can  had 
89 


THE   HEART  OF   BRIER   ROSE 

done  its  work.  Every  valve  worked  with 
precision.  Each  screw  was  secure.  Joe 
laughed  to  see  her  fling  a  shovelful  of  coal 
into  the  furnace  like  a  born  fireman. 

His  own  machine  called  his  attention  from 
the  Forty-four.  Then  Rose  heard  him  cry 
out,  and,  springing  down,  she  rushed  into 
the  station. 

"  A  runaway  engine  coming  this  way !" 
he  said,  hoarsely.  "  Spite  work  of  a  dis- 
charged engineer.  No  one  on  her — going 
twenty-five  miles  an  hour — a  single  track — 
Dave's  train  only  going  fifteen — the  Forty- 
four  and  that  ore-car  on  the  only  siding  be- 
tween here  and  Red  Valley.  My  God  !" 

"  Where  is  it  ?"  cried  Brier  Rose. 

"It  broke  away  from  Horseshoe  Gap. 
Message  is  from  Prairie  City.  It's  already 
passed  Prairie  City,  headed  straight  for 
here.  It's  bound  to  catch  Dave  before  his 
train  gets  to  Red  Valley." 

Rose  turned  white  to  her  very  lips.  She 
covered  her  face  with  her  brown  hands. 
Only  for  a  moment,  though.  Then  she  flung 
back  her  head,  and  looked  Joe  full  in  the 
face. 

90 


THE   HEART  OF  BRIER    ROSE 

"  I  can  save  him  !"  she  cried.  She  sprang 
for  her  engine  and  climbed  into  the  cab. 

"  Rose  !  Rose  !"  roared  Joe,  in  dismay. 

Rose  turned  her  white  face  towards  him 
imploringly.  "  Be  at  the  switch,  Joe,  and 
listen  for  my  signals,  as  you  value  Dave's 
life !"  she  cried.  Then  she  pulled  the  throttle- 
valve  out  to  its  full  extent.  The  engine 
shivered  all  over ;  and,  at  fifty  miles  an 
hour,  the  Forty-four,  driven  by  Brier  Rose, 
leaped  down  the  track  to  meet  the  run- 
away. 

There  was  not  a  moment  to  lose.  A  cer- 
tain number  of  miles,  lessening  every  mo- 
ment, lay  between  the  lumbering  freight 
with  Dave  on  board,  and  the  cruel,  sense- 
less, runaway  engine.  Between  them  was 
Brier  Rose,  with  just  a  chance  of  safety. 

Feverishly  she  examined  the  familiar  ma- 
chinery. Eagerly  she  scanned  the  track  for 
signs  of  the  runaway.  She  knew  that  a 
loosened  rail  or  any  obstruction  would  hurl 
her  to  her  doom,  and  still  not  avert  disaster 
from  Dave.  The  whistle  of  the  Forty-four 
shrilled  out  an  unearthly  screech  continu- 
ally, to  warn  even  the  birds  from  fluttering 
91 


THE   HEART  OF  BRIER   ROSE 

too  near  the  messenger  of  life.  The  prai- 
rie-dogs scuttled  into  their  holes  in  fear. 
The  telegraph-wires  intoned.  The  bending 
sky  took  on  a  new  meaning  to  her.  The 
engine  rocked  from  side  to  side  at  the  dizzy 
rate  of  speed.  For  the  first  time  the  odor 
of  hot  oil  made  Rose  feel  faint.  She  hung 
half  out  of  the  cab -window,  panting  for 
breath,  with  her  hands  clinging  crazily  to 
the  window  for  support. 

Suddenly  she  saw  smoke  in  the  distance. 
Larger  and  larger  grew  the  black  speck  on 
the  track.  Faster  and  faster  flew  the  Forty- 
four  to  meet  it.  Nearer  and  nearer  came 
the  runaway.  When  she  could  plainly  see 
the  shape  of  the  approaching  engine,  she 
closed  the  throttle  with  a  rush  which  made 
the  Forty-four  tremble.  She  reversed  her 
engine,  and,  at  little  less  than  twenty- five 
miles  an  hour,  began  running  away  from 
the  runaway. 

Slowly,  almost  imperceptibly,  it  gained 
on  her  brave  engine.  A  horrible  fear  took 
possession  of  her  that  it  was  too  slowly, 
and  that  they  both  would  reach  Dave's 
train  before  she  stopped  the  runaway.  She 
92 


THE   HEART  OF  BRIER   ROSE 

changed  the  speed,  and  let  the  engine  gain 
on  her  faster. 

"  I  can  signal  for  the  siding,  if  I  fail," 
thought  Brier  Rose.  "Joe  will  obey  my 
signal."  But  she  shuddered. 

Mile  after  mile  they  traversed  in  the  di- 
rection of  Weeping  Willow  and  Red  Val- 
ley. 

In  sight  of  Weeping  Willow  at  last ! 
The  Forty -four  whistled  frantically.  Rose 
signalled  for  a  clear  track,  and  only  a 
train-length  apart  the  Forty -four  and  the 
runaway  flew  past  the  little  station  plat- 
form, crowded  with  every  man,  woman, 
and.  child  in  town,  who  cheered  the  fly- 
ing engine  and  the  white -faced  girl  like 
mad. 

Joe  understood  her  plan  now.  He  bound- 
ed into  the  station,  frenzied  with  excitement, 
and  telegraphed  to  Red  Valley  what  Brier 
Rose  was  doing  ;  then,  from  sheer  nervous- 
ness, he  squeezed  Foxy  until  he  yelped 
wildly. 

Out  of  sight  of  Weeping  Willow,  and 
Dave's  train  in  the  distance  !  Nearer  and 
nearer  came  the  runaway.  The  Forty-four 
93 


THE   HEART  OF  BRIER   ROSE 

snorted  in  defiance  of  being  caught.  Rose 
braced  herself  for  the  shock.  Crash  !  came 
the  pilot  of  the  runaway  into  the  unpro- 
tected rear  of  the  gallant  Forty-four.  They 
separated  with  the  shock,  and  bounded 
together  again  ;  but  this  time  Rose  had 
loosened  her  hold,  and  the  concussion  flung 
her  to  the  floor,  with  her  soft  cheek  against 
the  cab  seat. 

Faint  from  her  fall,  she  gathered  herself 
together  and  shut  off  the  steam.  Then,  with 
the  nose  of  the  runaway  viciously  pushing 
the  Forty-four,  Brier  Rose  crept  like  a  cat 
over  the  tender,  down  over  the  trembling 
engine,  and  on  her  hands  and  knees. she 
crawled  over  to  the  runaway,  up  along  the 
boiler  side,  into  the  cab,  and  crashed  the 
throttle  shut  when  the  Forty-four  was  within 
a  car's-length  of  Dave's  train.  She  had  only 
strength  enough  to  get  her  hand  on  the 
whistle,  hear  its  shrill  call,  when,  woman- 
like, she  fainted. 

When  she  came  to  herself  she  was  in  the 
Red    Valley   station.     Dave   was    bending 
over  her,  and  calling  her  name  with  trem- 
94 


THE   HEART  OF  BRIER   ROSE 

bling  lips.  She  opened  her  eyes  and  smiled 
into  his  face. 

"  Oh,  Brier  Rose,  how  could  you  do  it  ?" 
he  whispered,  with  a  shudder. 

"I  did  it  for  you,  David — for  you!" 


LIZZIE  LEE'S  SEPARATION 


LIZZIE    LEE'S  SEPARATION 


"  IT  all  comes  of  so  much  marryin',"  said 
Aunt  Dony  Tuggle,  pulling  her  spectacles 
down  from  the  crown  of  her  head,  where 
they  had  been  winking  at  the  fire,  to  set 
the  heel  in  the  gray  sock  she  was  knitting. 
"  Some  folks  just  seem  possessed  to  marry." 

"And  then  they  ain't  satisfied  —  not  half 
of  them,"  supplemented  Aunt  Mary  Battle, 
looking  around  pugnaciously,  as  if  daring 
anybody  to  prove  the  contrary. 

At  these  discouraging  statements,  Cousin 
Mary  Lou,  the  only  one  in  the  assemblage 
who  contemplated  a  further  outrage  in  that 
direction,  shook  her  head  at  the  strange 
Cousin  Sara,  and  laid  a  slim  forefinger  on 
her  lip. 

"  Still,  in  this  case,  I  shouldn't  say  that 
marryin'  was  to  blame,"  ventured  Aunt  Em- 
99 


LIZZIE   LEE'S  SEPARATION 

meline  Tally,  timidly.  "  Plenty  of  folks 
marry  and  live  peaceable." 

"/  should  say  that  the  trouble  was  with 
Lizzie  Lee  herself,"  burst  out  Aunt  Mary 
Battle,  wrathfully.  "  If  she  couldn't  marry 
into  the  best  family  in  the  State  of  Missis- 
sippi, and  be  too  proud  of  doin'  it  to  bring 
trouble,  she'd  better  have  stayed  out  of  it. 
That's  what  /  say.  But  she  always  was  a 
headstrong,  con-tra-ry  little  minx." 

The  six  rocking-chairs  came  to  a  stand- 
still as  if  by  common  consent.  The  shocked 
silence  made  itself  felt,  even  upon  Aunt 
Mary. 

"I  don't  think,"  said  Cou§in  Sophie 
Moore,  gently,  but  with  increasing  color, 
"that  I  ever  heard  any  one  in  our  family 
called  such  a  name  befo'. 

"  I  believe  in  callin'  a  spade  a  spade," 
snapped  Aunt  Mary,  "and  not  'a  sweet  lit- 
tle shovel,'  specially  when  it  is  a  spade, 
and  not  entirely  free  from  garden  mould, 
either!" 

She  was  surprised  and  hurt  to  find  the 
family  dissenting  from  her.  "  Besides,"  she 
added,  significantly,  "  Lizzie  Lee  was  a  Mur- 


LIZZIE   LEE'S   SEPARATION 

chison,  and  we  all  know  what  the  Murchi- 
sons  are." 

"She  married^.  Mo' !"  said  Cousin  Sophie. 

That  settled  it.  Aunt  Mary  said  no  more, 
but  she  shook  her  head  several  times,  and 
ordered  black  Anna  Potts  to  go  tell  her 
mother  to  tell  Lucius  to  tell  Amos  to  bring 
a  back -log,  in  a  voice  which  made  Anna 
skip. 

"The  family  never  had  a  breath  of  scan- 
dal breathed  on  it  befo',''  said  Aunt  Emme- 
line  Tally.  "  It  has  somehow  seemed  to 
me,  and  I  reckon  this  is  a  judgment  on  me 
for  it,  but  it  has  appeared  that  our  family 
was  kind  of  sacred— blessed  of  the  Lord,  I 
mean,  Sist'  Mary.  The  childern  have  all 
been  strong  and  healthy,  have  been  tol'ble 
good  growin'  up,  and  have  made  sensible 
marriages  with  families  as  good  as  ours." 

"  Nearly  as  good,"  assented  Cousin  So- 
phie. 

Aunt  Dony  Tuggle  took  up  the  thread  of 
the  narrative. 

"  Then  when  Cuthbert  Mo'  married  Liz- 
zie Lee  Murchison,  we  all  said  that  while 
the  Murchisons  befo'  the  war  never  amount- 
101 


LIZZIE   LEE'S   SEPARATION 

ed  to  much,  still  there  was  a  Judge  Murchi- 
son  'way  back  on  her  father's  side,  and  it 
wouldn't  have  made  any  difference  what  we 
said,  because  Cuthbert  would  have  her,  and 
nobody  would  do  him  but  Lizzie  Lee.  Our 
sayin'  she  was  powerful  con-/ra-ry  didn't 
bother  him  any.  He  must  have  her,  and 
he  got  her." 

Aunt  Dony,  being  large  and  comfortable 
herself,  laughed  largely  and  comfortably. 

"  He  took  her  over  the  heads  of  half  the 
county,  too,"  added  Aunt  Emtneline,  with 
dainty,  faded  pride. 

The  younger  cousins,  not  daring  to  inter- 
rupt this  serious  conversation,  Mary  Lou 
leaned  over  and  asked  Sara  in  pantomime 
if  she  should  hemstitch  that  ruffle ;  Sara 
nodded. 

"  We  said  all  we  could  to  keep  him  from 
it,"  went  on  Aunt  Dony,  amiably,  rehearsing 
the  story  to  get  as  much  good  out  of  it  as 
possible,  "  and  tried  to  make  him  see  that 
con-/Avz-ry  women  don't  make  good  wives. 
Then  we  took  to  her,  havin'  married  a  Mo', 
and  visited  her  and  treated  her  just  like  we 
do  our  own  kin.  And  wasn't  she  the  sweet- 


LIZZIE    LEE'S  SEPARATION 

est,  prettiest  little  bride,  with  those  cheeks 
of  hers  as  red  as  a  rose,  and  eyes  as  big  as 
that !"  Aunt  Dony  put  her  thumb  and  fore- 
finger together,  making  a  circle  something 
the  size  of  a  silver  dollar. 

"  But  now,"  burst  forth  Aunt  Mary  Battle 
again,  "  here  she  ups  and  says  that  she 
can't  live  with  Cuthbert,  and  she  won't  live 
with  him,  and  she's  left  him.  That's  what 
she's  done.  She's  left  him.  And  he  a  Mo'!" 

"  Mist'  Tally  says  Cuthbert  feels  powerful 
bad,"  said  Aunt  Emmeline.  "  He  won't 
eat  nor  sleep,  but  just  grieves  after  Lizzie 
Lee  all  the  time,  like  she  was  dead." 

"Oh, Sist'  Emmeline!"  remonstrated  Aunt 
Dony,  who  kept  unwholesome  thoughts  well 
away  from  herself. 

"  That's  what  Mist'  Tally  said,"  reiterated 
Aunt  Emmeline. 

"  Oh,  but  that's  a  dreadful  thing  to  say  /" 

"  Mist'  Tally  said  so,"  insisted  Aunt  Em- 
meline, with  the  gentle  stubbornness  of  a 
negative  nature. 

"  If  I  could  just  see  Lizzie  Lee,"  said 
Cousin  Sophie,  mournfully. 

"I  hope  he  won't  come  here!"  cried  Aunt 
103 


LIZZIE  LEE'S  SEPARATION 

Mary.  "  I  couldn't  treat  her  decently.  You 
Anna,  did  you  tell  Amos  to  bring  that  back- 
log?" 

"Yas'm.  An'  he  done  say  he'd  breng  it 
jes'  soon  as  he  hep  feed  de  calves." 

"  It's  too  bad  of  Lizzie  Lee."  Aunt  Dony 
rocked  and  knitted  and  went  on  placidly 
with  what  she  had  to  say.  "  She  ought  to 
have  had  mo'  patience  with  him.  Cuthbert 
admits  that  he  was  wearin'.  But,  laws! 
sister,  most  men  are  !" 

All  five  of  the  rocking-chairs  assented  to 
this. 

"  You  didn't  hear  any  reason  given  for  her 
leavin'  him,  Sist'  Mary?" 

"  No,  it  came  on  me  like  a  clap  of  thunder, 
right  in  church.  Miz.  Haney  wrote  it  on 
her  hymn-book,  just  above  '  I've  a  message 
from  the  Lord,  Hallelujah !'  And  it  gave  me 
such  a  turn  that  when  we  stood  up  I  came 
mighty  near  singin',  '  Did  you  know  that 
Lizzie  Lee  had  left  her  husband  ?'  Those 
words  just  danced  befo'  my  eyes." 

"  If  Miz.  Haney  hadn't  told  it  to  anybody 
but  you,  I  reckon  folks  needn't  have  known 
about  it  yet  awhile,"  sighed  Aunt  Emmeline. 
104 


LIZZIE    LEE'S  SEPARATION 

Aunt  Mary  looked  uneasy,  for  she  was  the 
greatest  talker  in  the  county.  The  others 
glanced  at  her  dubiously. 

"It  was  "Lizzie.  Lee's  turn  to  sit  up  with 
little  Mattie  Haney  Sadday  night,  and  no- 
body would  have  thought  strange  of  her 
stayin'  to  let  Miz.  Haney  come  to  preachin'." 

No  one  said  anything  in  reply.  Out  on 
the  side -porch  they  could  hear  the  jerky 
revolutions  of  the  barrel-churn,  as  black 
Alice  Potts  endeavored  to  earn  her  right  to 
wait  on  the  table  for  company  by  bringing 
butter  under  two  hours.  Her  voice,  clear 
and  sweet,  rose  high  over  the  dull  pounding 
of  the  churn,  as  she  sang  : 

' '  '  Rained  forty  days  and  forty  nights, 
An'  washed  dem  sinners  out  of  sight. 
See  dem  sinners  svvimmin'  aroun' 
An'  cryin'  to  Noah  befo'  dey  drown. 
Good  Lawd  done  been  here, 
An'  bless  my  soul  an'  gone  !' " 

They  all  listened  absently,  and  the  last 
of  the  fire-logs  fell  apart  in  a  shower  of 
sparks,  leaving  only  a  glowing  bed  of  coals. 

"  Well,  I'll  never  believe  that  it  was  Cuth- 
bert's  fault,"  sighed  Aunt  Emmeline. 


LIZZIE   LEE'S   SEPARATION 

A  little  noise  on  the  side-porch  made 
Cousin  Sophie  say  : 

"  I  reckon  that's  Amos  now."  But  when 
the  door  opened  it  opened  to  admit,  not 
Amos,  but  the  subject  of  all  this  discus- 
sion, Lizzie  Lee  Moore. 

They  all  looked  at  her  with  eager  curiosi- 
ty, the  little,  round,  soft  beauty,  who  had  set 
the  county  by  the  ears  with  her  great  brown 
eyes  and  the  delicate  pink  of  her  peachy 
cheeks. 

She  looked  around  at  the  gathered  rela- 
tives shyly,  knowing  that  they  had  come  to 
talk  her  over  and  to  condemn  her — all  his 
relatives,  not  one  of  hers.  Through  the 
open  door  behind  her  the  blue  sky  above 
the  horizon  made  a  light  background,  against 
which  her  slim  figure  looked  singularly  child- 
ish and  helpless. 

She  stood  with  one  hand  still  on  the  door- 
knob, not  as  if  uncertain  whether  to  enter, 
but  as  if  seeking  to  know  from  their  faces 
which  of  them  had  condemned  her  unheard. 
And  in  the  embarrassed  silence  they  all 
felt  somewhat  guilty. 

If  she  had  been  less  pretty,  it  would  have 
1 06 


LIZZIE   LEE'S   SEPARATION 

seemed  brazen  in  her  to  come.     As  it  was, 
her  childishness  made  it  appear  brave. 

Cousin  Sophie  was  the  first  to  recover 
herself,  and  to  remember  that  a  guest  stood 
on  her  door-step,  waiting  to  be  welcomed. 
From  the  time  she  took  Lizzie  Lee's  hand 
in  hers  and  felt  it  tremble,  the  best  in  the 
house  was  at  the  disposal,  for  as  long  as 
she  chose  to  remain,  of  the  girl  who  had  left 
her  husband— one  of  their  family,  too — and 
she  a  Murchison. 

"  You  all  are  mighty  kind,"  said  Lizzie 
Lee,  from  the  depths  of  Aunt  Mary  Battle's 
rocking-chair,  where  she  had  been  forcibly 
placed  by  that  remorseful  lady,  while  she  went 
to  take  it  out  on  Amos  about  the  back-log. 

The  December  sun  streamed  in  warmly, 
and  the  holly  bushes  tapped  their  prickly 
leaves  against  the  window-panes  in  sharp 
remonstrance,  as  if  to  say,  "There  are  two 
sides  to  this  question." 

"Mighty  kind,"  reiterated  Cuthbert 
Moore's  wife.  "I— I  didn't  expect  it — 
hardly." 

Aunt  Mary  appeared  at  the  door,  push- 
ing Amos  before  her. 

107 


LIZZIE   LEE'S   SEPARATION 

"Just  look  at  that  fire!  Ain't  you 
ashamed  of  yourself  to  let  the  fire  go  plumb 
out  with  Miss  Sara  here  visiting  your  Miss 
Sophie,  and  our  sweet  Miss  Lizzie  Lee 
come  in  from  a  long  ride,  and  cold  as  ice 
from  head  to  foot.  Then  here  you  come 
with  a  little  bitty  back -log  that  would  do 
for  kincllin',  tryin'  to  warm  up  these  pretty 
young  ladies  with  chips.  Go  on  out  of  here 
and  bring  a  back -log  now  that  will  bend 
you  double.  You  hear  ?" 

And  as  the  grinning,  shuffling  boy  sham- 
bled out,  Aunt  Mary  sat  down,  having  re- 
lieved her  conscience  and  regulated  Cousin 
Sophie's  household  at  one  fell  swoop. 

The  big  plantation -bell,  which  hung, 
poised  like  a  great  black  bird  of  prey,  from 
the  top  of  a  dead  tree  back  of  the  house, 
began  to  clang  forth  its  summons  for  the 
field -hands,  and  Cousin  Lisle  Moore,  So- 
phie's husband,  drawn  thither  by  news  from 
the  swarming  coloreds  about  the  place  that 
"Miss  Lizzie  Lee  done  come  to  dinner," 
came  in,  and  greeted  his  guest  with  evident 
concern.  It  was  plain  to  be  seen  that  he 
did  not  know  which  way  the  tide  of  condem- 
108 


LIZZIE   LEE'S   SEPARATION 

nation  flowed,  and  that  he  was  not  going  to 
commit  himself. 

The  silence  was  beginning  to  be  a  little 
awkward,  when  he  suddenly  burst  out  with 
a  subject  which  he  felt  to  be  safe. 

"  Cousin  Sara,  I'm  sorry  to  say  that  old 
Isrul  can't  preach  Sunday.  Cousin  Sara 
said  she  was  dyin'  to  hear  a  colored  preacher* 
Miss  Lizzie  Lee,  and  I  wanted  her  to  hear 
Isrul.  You  know  old  Isrul  Potts,  the  grand- 
father of  all  these  black  apes  around  hyer." 
The  three  children  crouching  around  the 
fire,  seeing  themselves  glanced  at,  ducked 
their  heads  and  dived  behind  chairs,  whence 
they  were  all  rapped  out  again  by  thimbles 
on  their  woolly  heads.  "  You  know,  wife, 
what  a  great  interpreter  of  the  Scrip- 
tures Isrul  is.  He  studies  about  it  all  the 
time,  and  he  does  get  some  of  the  most  ow- 
dacious  meanings  from  old  texts  you  ever  did 
hyer.  But  they  won't  let  him  preach  any 
mo'.  I'm  surprised  to  hyer  it,  but  they 
won't.  I'm  sorry  about  that,  too,  for  I  did 
want  Cousin  Sara  to  hyer  him." 

"  Why  not,  Cousin  Lisle  ?" 

He  was  looking  into  the  fire  and  smiling 
109 


LIZZIE   LEE'S   SEPARATION 

to  himself,  evidently  having  forgotten  about 
everything  except  old  Israel. 

"  Well,  he  and  his  wife,  that  Sallie,  quar'l 
all  the  time,  and  now  they've  separated.  Say 
they  never  will  live  together  again,  and  the 
scandal — "  Cousin  Sophie  brought  her  foot 
down  on  his  just  here,  and  then  he  realized. 
"  What's  the  manner  with  your  fire,  wife  ? 
Why  don't  you  keep  these  lazy,  loafing 
blacks  at  work  ?  You  Lelia  !  You  Anna  ! 
Get  out  of  hyer  and  bring  some  wood. 
Amos,  you  were  sent  for  that  back-log  three 
days  ago.  I'll  have  you  shot  at  sun-down. 
You  hyer  me  ?  You've  got  about  fo'  hours 
to  live.  Get  off  that  cat's  tail,  suh  !  Can't 
you  find  any  other  place  to  put  those  big 
feet  of  yours  except  plumb  on  the  cat's  tail  ? 
Hyer,  wife!  Hold  Tabby  till  this  black 
piece  of  awkwardness  gets  the  fire  made. 
Not  there,  Amos  !  Why  don't  you  put  it 
on  the  piano  and  be  done  with  it  ?  Gimme 
that  log  and  get  out.  Start  running  now, 
and  don't  stop  till  you  get  to  Tuggle's 
branch.  Fall  into  it,  if  you  want  to.  Gimme 
those  little  sticks,  Anna.  Now  put  yours 
on,  Lelia.  Shut  that  door,  Lucius,  and  take 
no 


LIZZIE    LEE'S  SEPARATION 

Amos's  hat  out  to  him.  Anna,  you  go  rest 
Alice  at  the  churn.  Lelia,  go  tell  your 
mother  to  hurry  up  dinner.  Miss  Sara's 
about  starved  to  death.  Wife,  I  must  feed 
those  calves." 

Mary  Lou  and  Sara  nudged  each  other 
delightedly,  for,  after  scattering  the  black 
children  like  autumn  leaves  in  a  high  wind, 
Cousin  Lisle  bolted,  with  his  face  as  red  as 
fire.  He  was  a  shy  man,  and  anything  em- 
barrassing always  sent  him,  no  matter  what 
the  hour,  to  "feed  the  calves." 

"  He  never  goes  near  them,"  whispered 
Mary  Lou. 

Lizzie  Lee  had  glanced  around  at  her  in 
a  startled  way  at  his  unfortunate  remark. 
The  rocking-chairs  swayed  nervously  back 
and  forth,  no  two  in  unison.  The  effect 
upon  the  observer  was  that  of  a  choppy  sea. 

After  he  had  gone  they  all  began  to  talk 
rather  incoherently  at  once.  But  Lizzie 
Lee  interrupted  them.  She  leaned  her  trim 
figure  forward  from  the  cavernous  depths  of 
the  great  chair,  and  said  : 

"  I  reckon  you  all  feel  mighty  bad  to  hear 
that  Mist'  Mo'  and  I  have  had  a  fallin'  out." 


LIZZIE   LEE'S  SEPARATION 

Her  voice  trembled  a  little,  and  it  made 
them  entirely  forget  that  it  must  have  been 
Lizzie  Lee's  fault,  for  nobody  ever  had 
quarrelled  with  Cuthbert  before — the  great, 
smiling,  easy-going  young  giant,  who  wor- 
shipped the  ground  his  wife's  little  feet  trod 
upon,  and  whose  only  fault  lay  in  "  spoilin' 
her  to  death  with  his  foolishness  over  her." 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  all  about  it.  That's 
what  I  came  for.  Not  that  I  ever  mean  to 
go  back  to  him.  It's  gone  too  far  for  that. 
Words  have  been  spoken  that  I  can't  forget. 
But  just  so  that  you  won't  blame  me." 
Aunt  Mary  Battle  coughed  ominously.  "I 
can't  bear  to  be  blamed,"  said  Lizzie  Lee, 
piteously.  Aunt  Mary  patted  her  hand  re- 
assuringly. 

"  I  don't  know  exactly  how  it  began  this 
time,  but  ever  since  we  have  been  married 
Mist'  Mo'  has  been  queer  about  one  thing. 
Whenever  he  has  wanted  me  to  do  a  thing, 
he  always  begins  by  beggin'  me  to  do  just 
the  opposite,  as  if  I  was  the  con-/r«-riest 
thing  that  ever  lived.  And  when  I  found 
that  out,  it  nachally  riled  me  up  just  same 
as  it  would  anybody,  Cousin  Sophie.  You 
112 


LIZZIE   LEE'S   SEPARATION 

know  if  Cousin  Lisle  wanted  you  to  stay  at 
home  from  preachin',  you'd  hate  to  have 
him  get  you  to  do  it  by  beggin'  you  to  go, 
now  wouldn't  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  honey,  I  would." 

"  Well,  whenever  my  will  goes  one  way 
and  his  goes  another,  which  I  must  admit 
is  pretty  often,  he  gets  up  and  says, '  Well, 
I  was  warned  of  this,  and  I  wouldn't  be- 
lieve it,  but  I  see  it's  true.'  He  won't 
tell  me  what  he  was  warned  about,  or  who 
warned  him,  and  I  can't  find  out.  I  can't 
ask  other  people,  can  I  ?" 

Six  rocking-chairs  began  to  rock  very  rap- 
idly, and  Aunt  Dony  ravelled  out  half  her 
knitting  without  knowing  it.  Mary  Lou  laid 
down  her  hemstitching  and  looked  atten- 
tively at  little  Lizzie  Lee,  as  if  to  learn 
some  of  the  mysteries  of  this  wonderful 
married  state,  which  Sara  alone  was  aware 
that  she  contemplated  entering. 

"  I  can't  bear  to  ask  questions  of  people 
who  don't  love  Mist'  Mo',  because  it  looks 
like  I  didn't  trust  him,  and  it  reflects  on 
his  dignity.  That's  why  I  came  to  you  all, 
because  you  are  his  kin,  and  you  love  him 
H  113 


LIZZIE   LEE'S   SEPARATION 

— you  couldn't  help  it — and  if  I  went  home 
Sist'  Katy  and  all  would  tell  me  that  if  I 
had  taken  Nelson  Ames,  or  Totten  King, 
or  some  of  the  other  boys  who  waited  on 
me,  this  wouldn't  have  happened." 

The  entire  relationship  stopped  breathing 
at  this  ;  but  Lizzie  Lee  continued  : 

"  But  Saturday  morning  it  all  came  to  an 
end.  I  hope  I  didn't  do  wrong.  I  wouldn't 
hurt  him  for  the  whole  world.  I — I've  al- 
ways cared  too  much  for  him." 

The  relatives  began  to  exchange  uneasy 
glances.  They  had  been  blaming  her  for 
not  appreciating  one  of  their  family,  but 
this  scarcely  looked  like  it. 

"  I  hardly  know  how  it  began  this  time. 
I've  tried  ever  so  hard,  but  these  two  days 
seem  like  a  week  to  me.  It  was  Saturday 
morning  when  we  began  to  talk.  I  believe 
it  was  about  religion.  You  know  I'm  a 
Babtist  and  all  the  Mo's  are  Methodists; 
and  while  I  freely  admit  to  you  all  that  I 
don't  keep  my  temper  very  well,  Mist'  Mo' 
is  aggravating  and  when  I  get  real  mad 
with  him,  he  just  laughs  at  me  and  tries  to 
get  me  good-humored  again  by  teasin'  me. 
114 


LIZZIE    LEE'S   SEPARATION 

He  is  a  powerful  tease,  you  know,  Cousin 
Sophie." 

The  brown  eyes,  which  had  melted  but  a 
moment  ago,  began  to  flash  forth  sparkles, 
and  the  pink  deepened  in  her  cheeks,  mak- 
ing her  more  distractingly  pretty  than  ever. 
Sara  did  not  wonder  that  Cuthbert  teased 
her  if  it  made  her  look  like  that. 

"  When  I  see  how  easy  some  people  get 
along  with  their  husbands,  and  how  patient 
wives  are,  I  do  get  ashamed  of  the  way 
Mist1  Mo'  and  I  fuss;  but  somehow,  even 
when  I  make  up  my  mind  not  to  care,  he 
says  something  just  too  much,  mostly  about 
babtism,  and  then  I  flare  up.  And  Satur- 
day it  began  the  same  way,  and  he  said  this 
thing  about  being  warned,  and  I  fired  up 
and  said  I'd  not  listen  to  that  again,  and 
that  whoever  warned  him  against  me  were 
wicked  people,  and  if  I  ever  found  out  who 
they  were  I'd  tell  them  so,  right  to  their 
faces,  and  look  them  good  in  the  eyes  when 
I  did  it."  And  Lizzie  Lee  gave  them  the 
benefit  of  that  look,  but  entirely  unconscious 
that  she  was  thus  carrying  out  her  threat. 

-I  meant  to  say  I 
"5 


LIZZIE   LEE'S   SEPARATION 

was  goin'  to  find  out,  but  he  must  have 
thought  I  meant  I  was  goin'  somewhere 
right  then,  or  he  never  would  have  said  it 
to  me — I'm  his  wife — but  he  sort  of  laughed 
and  said,  '  Well,  go.  I'll  not  hinder  you  !' 
Oh,  I  was  so  hurt !  I  said,  '  Do  you  mean 
it?'  And  he  said,  'Yes.'  '  If  I  go,'  I  said, 
and,  Cousin  Sophie,  my  voice  choked  up  so 
I  could  hardly  speak,  and  he  never  seemed 
to  notice — don't  you  think  men  are  queer 
that  way  ? — '  if  I  go,  I'll  never  come  back.' 
'  No,'  he  said,  '  never  come  back.  Never 
come  back.'  He  said  that  to  me.  Just 
think  of  it !" 

The  quick  tears  sprang  to  her  lovely  eyes 
in  a  way  which  would  have  made  Cuthbert 
forgive  her  for  anything  if  he  could  have 
seen  it.  Aunt  Emmeline  sniffed  a  little  in 
sympathy.  Cousin  Sophie  sighed,  and  Mary 
Lou  absently  wiped  a  stray  tear  on  her 
ruffle,  and  began  to  pull  threads  in  her 
handkerchief. 

"  I   said   to    him,  '  Do  you  mean  that  ?' 

And  he  said,  yes,  he  did.     Then  he  went 

out,  and  I  went  up -stairs  and  put  on  my 

things.     I  left  everything  handy  for   him, 

116 


LIZZIE    LEE'S  SEPARATION 

and,  it  being  Saturday,  I  laid  out  his  Sun- 
day suit,  and  put  the  buttons  in  his  cuffs, 
and  laid  his  blue  tie  and  his  handkerchief 
right  by  his  collar,  so  he  wouldn't  miss  me 
the  first  morning.  Then  I  came  away.  He 
told  me  to.  He  said  never  to  come  back. 
And  I  never  will.  Never,  never  on  this 
green  earth  !" 

Lizzie  Lee  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and 
little  lines  appeared  around  her  mouth,  as 
if,  when  she  said  a  thing,  she  meant  it. 
Aunt  Mary  Battle  wiped  her  glasses  and 
looked  at  her  doubtfully,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"Were  we  altogether  wrong?" 

"Have  you  seen  him  since?"  asked  Cou- 
sin Sophie. 

"  He  came  to  Miz.  Haney's  Sunday — was 
that  only  yesterday  ? — but  I  didn't  see  him. 
I  told  Miz.  Haney  to  tell  you,  Aunt  Mary. 
I  knew  you  would  tell  the  rest." 

Just  then  black  Edith  put  her  head  in  at 
the  door. 

"  Please,  'm,  Miss  Sophie,  here's  Sallie 
Potts,  lake  to  speak  to  you  just  one  minute." 

"Tell  her  to  come  in,  Edith.     Come  in, 
Sallie,"  cried  Sara,  eagerly. 
117 


LIZZIE    LEE'S   SEPARATION 

It  was  inspiration. 

"  Howdy,  Sallie  ?"  they  said. 

"  Howdy,  Miss  Sophie  ?  Howdy,  Miz. 
Tally?  Howdy,  Miz.  Tuggle ?  Howdy,  Miss 
Sara  ?  Howdy,  Miss  Mary  Lou  ?  Howdy, 
Miss  Lizzie  Lee  ?" 

"  We  hear  bad  news  of  you,  Sallie,"  said 
Sara,  lugubriously. 

Mary  Lou  pinched  her  arm,  but  Sara 
shook  her  off.  Sallie  was  a  powerfully  built 
colored  woman,  strong  and  tall,  and  was 
old  Israel  Potts's  fifth  wife. 

"  Yas'm,  I  done  been  cruelly  mistreated," 
she  said,  standing  before  them  and  cross- 
ing her  large  arms.  "  I  has,  foh  a  fack.  I 
heard  dat  mis'ble,  no  'count  nigger  done  been 
up  hyah,  fillin'  Mist'  Mo'  full  o'  his  side  ob 
de  trouble,  an'  I  jis  ups  an'  says,  '  I  gwine 
tell  Miss  Sophie  my  side.'  Trouble  between 
husbun  ^n'  wife,  Miss  Sophie,  is  dey  own 
business,  an'  nobody  got  a  right  to  say 
whedder  or  no.  Dat's  what  /  says,  an'  I 
knows,  I  does.  I  ain't  been  mah'd  as  many 
times  as  Isrul,  but  I'se  had  enough  trouble 
wid  de  one  husbun  I  hab  had  to  make  up 
foh  it.  I  has,  foh  a  fack. 
118 


LIZZIE   LEE'S   SEPARATION 

"V  all  know  what  a  little  bitty  black 
man  dat  Isrul  is — little,  meachin',  sneakin' 
— well  'm,  I  won't  say  no  mo'  on  dat  head. 
But  he  is  all  ob  dat.  Yas'm,  he  sho  is. 
He  come  a-walkin'  in  Chewsday  was  a  week 
ago  an'  says,  '  De  Sabbath  was  made  foh 
man?  An'  I  didn't  say  nothin',  case  I  see 
he  lef  out  de  ladies  a  puppose  to  rile  me 
up,  an'  jis  to  spite  him  I  d'termine  not  to 
git  riled.  Den  he  say,  '  Paul  say,  "  Let  de 
ladies  keep  silence  in  de  chutches,  foh  it  is  a 
shame  foh  one  ob  dem  to  speak  in  chutch." ' 
An'  de  Sunday  befo'  I  had  testified  right 
powerful  in  love  -  feast,  Miss  Sophie,  an' 
I  knowed  he  was  pintedly  meanin'  me. 
'Ya-as,'  I  says,  'an'  Mist'  Mo'  say  Paul 
done  say  his  own  seff  dat  he  wasn'  inspired, 
an  /  say  dat  Paul  don'  need  to  go  to  de 
trouble  ob  sayin'  so,  caze  dat  one  ting 
prove  dat  he  wasn't.1  An'  den  I  lafe  at  him 
good !  An'  he  say,  '  Mist'  Mo'  never  said 
dat.'  An'  I  say,  '  You  a  lie.'  An'  he  say, 
'  Don'  you  say  a  preacher  ob  de  gospil  is  a 
lie.'  An'  I  say,  'You  a  lie.'  An'  he  say, 
'  Don'  you  say  dat  agin.'  An',  Miss  Sophie, 
I  said  it  agin.  Den  he  thow  his  Bible  at 
119 


LIZZIE   LEE'S   SEPARATION 

me,  an'  it  miss  me,  an'  I  thow  de  rollin'-pin 
at  him,  an'  it  hit  him,  an'  bung  his  eye  good. 
I  did  dat  foh  a  fack.  Yas'm,  I  sho  did.  An' 
he  went  an'  tole  everybody  in  de  chutch 
dat  I  half  kill  him,  an'  dey  come  an'  try  to 
make  us  up !  An'  it  done  made  me  so  mad, 
Miss  Sophie,  dat  soon  as  dey  gone  I  tuk 
Isrul  an'  I  tied  him  wid  de  clozeline  to  a  kitch- 
en cheer,  hand  an'  foots,  an'  I  tuk  my  sun- 
bonnet  offen  ob  de  nail,  an'  I  says,  '  I  leaves 
you,  Revrun  Isrul  Potts,  an'  I'se  never 
comin'  back.  Fom  dis  time,  you  yearns 
yo'  cawn-meal  an'  bakes  yo'  bread  yo'seff. 
I'se  done  wid  you.'  An'  he  says,  '  Goody  !' 
An'  I  slams  de  do',  an'  he  hollers,  '  Goody,' 
an'  '  Don't  you  never  come  back,'  tell  I  git 
clar  out  ob  hyahin'." 

"  How  did  he  get  untied  ?"  asked  Mary 
Lou,  breathlessly. 

"  Well  'm,  he  wiggle  hisseff  to  de  do',  an' 
got  dat  open  wid  his  teef,  an'  den  he  wiggle 
hisseff,  still  in  dat  cheer,  out  to  de  big 
road,  an'  set  dar,  hollerin'  fit  to  bust,  tell 
somebody  come  by  an'  ontied  him. 

"  Now,  Miss  Sophie,  7  says  dat  any  lady 
en  my  place  would  'a'  done  jis  same  as  I 

.    I2O 


LIZZIE   LEE'S   SEPARATION 

done.  Miss  Sophie,  he  had  no  bizness  to 
say, '  Don'  you  say  dat  agin,'  when  he  know 
I  gwine  say  it !  Well  'm,  I  done  said  my  say, 
an'  put  my  case  befo'  de  white  ladies,  lake 
I  done  said  I  would.  But,  Lawd !  I  don' 
know  what  Isrul  gwine  do  widout  me.  He 
can't  yearn  nothin'.  But  no  seff-respeckful 
cullud  lady  gwine  take  in  washin'  to  feed  a 
man  what  ain't  satisfied  to  feed  huh  wid 
bread  f  om  Heaven  by  little  bits,  but  what 
thows  the  whole  Bible  at  huh  to  oncet. 
Dat's  all.  Miss  Lizzie  Lee,  you  lookin' 
mighty  white  an  pretty  to-day.  Please,  'm, 
Miss  Sophie,  kin  I  hab  a  little  coffee  an'  a 
teeny  little  bit  ob  cawn-meal  tell  I  gits  de 
nex'  week's  wash  -  money  ?  Thank  you, 
ma'm.  Good-evenin',  Miz.  Battle.  Good- 
evenin',  Miz.  Tuggle.  Good-evenin',  Miz. 
Tally.  Miss  Mary  Lou.  Miss  Sara." 

"And  Israel  says,"  Sara  began,  gayly, 
"that  he  has  done  with  Sallie  for  good;  and 
when  Cousin  Lisle  asked  where  he  got  his 
authority,  he  said  the  Scriptures  say  if  thy 
right  hand  offend  thee,  cut  it  off,  and  a  wife 
is  a  man's  right  hand,  so  he  has  cut  her 
off." 

121 


LIZZIE   LEE'S   SEPARATION 

Lizzie  Lee  got  up  and  walked  to  the 
window. 

"  How  dreadful  such  quarrels  are!"  sighed 
Cousin  Sophie. 

"  They  are  perfectly  absurd  !"  cried  Aunt 
Mary  Battle. 

Lizzie  Lee  turned  around  and  rested  her 
hands  behind  her  on  the  window-sill.  Her 
face  was  scarlet,  and  her  brown  eyes  drooped. 
Had  she  seen  and  understood  ?  She  looked 
around  the  room  for  some  way  of  escape, 
but  they  were  all  between  her  and  the  door. 

"  Cousin  Sophie,  I'm  so  mortified.  I  never 
thought —  It  was  such  a  little  thing  we  quar- 
relled about.  He's  been  so  good  to  me." 
She  raised  her  eyes  from  the  floor  and  went 
on  hurriedly,  with  strong  excitement  grow- 
ing in  her  voice.  "  It  was  such  a  foolish 
thing  —  I'll  tell  him  I  am  sorry.  I  can't 
stand  it  without  him.  There  he  comes  now, 
with  Cousin  Lisle.  Cousin  Sophie,  I'm  go- 
in'  to  meet  him  !" 

And  she  sprang  past  the  rocking-chairs 
to  the  door. 


MARY    LOU'S   MARRY1N' 


MARY   LOU'S   MARRYIN' 


WITH  a  final  exhausted  puff  and  a  steamy 
sigh  the  engine  stood  panting  in  front  of 
the  Holly  Springs  station,  while  the  passen- 
gers trooped  from  the  train  for  their  break- 
fast. 

The  conductor,  carrying  a  lady's  travel- 
ling belongings  and  followed  by  a  girl  in  a 
black  fur-trimmed  gown,  craned  his  neck 
over  the  crowd  of  men  in  search  of  one  to 
relieve  him.  The  girl  gazed  about  with  a 
small  wrinkle  of  perplexity  in  her  smooth, 
white  forehead,  saying,  vaguely, 

"  I  am  expecting  my  cousin  to  meet  me, 
but  he  does  not  seem  to  be  here." 

At   these  words,   a   man    came   forward 

with  such  a  cordial,  welcoming   smile  that 

her  anxious  face  relaxed.     The  conductor 

transferred  her  affairs  to  this  man,  who  said : 

I25 


MARY   LOU'S   MARRYIN' 

"  It's  a  leetle  too  early  to  expect  your 
cousin  yet,  but  he'll  be  here.  And,  in  the 
mean  time,  just  let  me  take  you  to  the  parlor, 
and  I'll  make  you  right  comfortable.  He'll 
be  here  directly.  Take  this  rocking-chair. 
I'll  pull  it  up  close  to  the  fire." 

She  took  off  her  coat  to  be  able  to  stand 
the  fire  at  all,  enjoying  the  cordiality  of  his 
manner  and  the  friendly  way  he  beamed  on 
her.  She  thought  it  exceedingly  kind  in 
Cousin  Lisle  to  have  sent  word,  and,  al- 
though travelling  for  the  first  time  alone, 
she  did  not  feel  uneasy  at  being  left  solitary 
in  a  railroad  hotel  parlor,  for  everybody 
looked  pleasantly  at  her,  the  women  who 
passed  nodded  and  smiled,  the  men  ad- 
mired without  rudeness,  and  the  warm  mid- 
winter sunlight  poured  radiantly  in  at  the 
broad  windows,  as  a  finishing  touch  of  cor- 
dial greeting.  It  fell  upon  her  white  face, 
revealing  that  its  pallor  was  not  natural,  for 
there  were  dancing  lights  in  her  warm,  brown 
eyes,  and  mirthful  curves  in  the  lips  which 
would  not  stay  pressed  together  as  firmly  as 
she  strove  to  make  them.  It  was  a  sensitive 
face,  with  a  certain  challenge  to  Fate  in  the 
126 


MARY   LOU'S   MARRYIN' 

mutinous  eyes  and  spirited  nose,  but  the 
fine  lines  of  suffering  in  her  forehead  and 
around  her  mouth  showed  that  Fate  had  for 
the  time  being  triumphed.  It  showed,  too, 
in  the  tired  way  in  which  she  drooped  when 
she  was  alone.  The  proud  lift  of  her  head 
was  gone,  and  her  eyes  saddened  with  the 
terrible  pathos  which  looks  from  the  win- 
dows of  a  woman's  soul  when  there  is  no 
one  but  God  to  see. 

She  leaned  back  and  absorbed  the  sooth- 
ing calm  of  her  surroundings  gratefully. 
The  soft  Southern  voices  had  no  obnoxious 
Western  r's  boring  their  way  into  innocent 
words,  and  clinching  them  with  a  last  twist 
as  final  as  a  nut  on  the  end  of  a  screw,  with 
which  to  rasp  her  sensitive  ear.  The  admir- 
ing approval  which  every  Southern  man  be- 
stows upon  a  handsome  girl  held  no  trace  of 
impertinence.  It  was  a  different  social  at- 
mosphere which  floated  in  upon  her  from 
all  around,  and  if  it  brought  back  stinging 
memories  and  hungry  yearnings  for  some- 
thing inexpressibly  dear,  now  gone  out  of 
her  life  forever,  no  one  should  ever  know. 

"  May  I  ask  the  name  of  the  cousin  you 
127 


MARY  LOU'S   MARRYIN' 

are  expecting?"  asked  her  new  friend,  ap- 
pearing at  the  door. 

"Why,  I  thought — "  she  began,  aghast. 
Fearful  stories  of  what  she  had  heard  of 
confidence-men  flashed  into  her  mind.  The 
train  had  long  since  glided  down  the  glisten- 
ing tracks  towards  New  Orleans.  In  a  mo- 
ment she  was  as  thoroughly  nervous  as  only 
a  woman  can  be. 

"  Mr.  Moore,"  she  said,  timidly 

"  Which  Mr.  Mo'  ?  Holly  Springs  is  full 
of  Mo's." 

"  Mr.  Lisle  Moore,  of  '  The  Hollies.'  He 
is  my  father's  cousin,  and  if  you  will  only 
put  me  in  the  way  of  getting  to  him  I  shall 
be  greatly  obliged  to  you.  I  thought,  when 
you  said  it  was  too  early  for  him,  that  you 
knew  him,  and  that  he  must  have  sent  word." 

"Mr.  Lisle  Mo'.  Oh-h-h  yes,  I  see.  I 
do  know  him.  It's  just  as  I  thought.  I 
knew  you  must  be  expectin'  to  meet  some- 
body from  the  country,  for  there  wouldn't 
be  no  reason  why  town-folks  wouldn't  be 
here  to  meet  you.  No,  he  'ain't  sent  word. 
But  he'll  be  here.  No,  indeed  ;  you  can't 
have  a  carriage  and  start  out  ten  miles  to 
128 


MARY  LOU'S   MARRYIN' 

his  plantation,  with  only  a  negro  man  to 
drive  you.  I  reckon  Mr.  Lisle  Mo'  would 
whip  me  if  I  should  let  you.  You  just  stay 
here  and  go  on  readin',  and  I'll  send  Avery 
Tuggle." 

He  disappeared,  and  presently  another 
man  slowly  propelled  himself  into  the  room, 
holding  his  hat  in  both  hands,  and  smiling 
protectingly  down  upon  her.  Presumably 
this  was  Avery  Tuggle  ;  but  who  was  Avery 
Tuggle,  and  why  should  he  have  been  sent 
to  her  ? 

"  Mr.  Mo'  will  send  in  for  you,  that's  cer- 
tain," he  said,  evidently  possessing  the 
points  of  the  case.  "  It  may  be  about  noon 
before  he  comes.  Roads  kind  of  bad  now, 
but  he'll  come." 

"But  can't  I  hire  a  carriage  ?  Haven't 
you  a  livery-stable  in  Holly  Springs  ?" 

He  laughed  pleasantly. 

"Yes.  ma'am,  I  keep  it  myself.  Oh,  I 
could  get  you  a  buggy.  'Tain't  that  we 
haven't  got  none.  It's  because  I  wouldn't 
like  to  have  you  go  that  way,  you  bein'  kin 
to  Mr.  Mo'.  No,  ma'am,  you  can't  start 
alone.  Mr.  Mo'  would  wear  me  out  for  let- 
i  129 


MARY   LOU'S  MARRYIN' 

tin'  you.  But  if  he  don't  come  by  noon, 
I'll  carry  you  myself." 

Sara  allowed  herself  to  be  adopted  by  the 
livery  man  and  the  hotel-keeper  without 
further  protest.  Avery  Tuggle  came  back  to 
say  that  he  would  telephone  Henry  Battle 
if  he  saw  any  of  the  Moores  pass  his  place. 
Sara  supposed  that  Henry  Battle  must  be 
her  first  owner. 

An  hour  more  of  solitude  drove  her  to 
think  hungrily  of  Cousin  Lisle  Moore's 
breakfast-table,  and  the  pretty  little  Cousin 
Mary  Lou,  whose  wedding  she  had  come  to 
attend.  The  next  time  Henry  Battle  ap- 
peared, she  ventured  to  suggest  break- 
fast. 

"  Of  course.  It  may  be  right  late  before 
anybody  comes  for  you,  and  you'll  be  power- 
ful hungry.  Just  come  with  me.  Leave  all 
your  things.  They  will  be  perfectly  safe. 
Not  much  use  for  furs  in  this  country." 

The  men  lounging  around  the  clerk's 
desk  glanced  at  her  in  pleasant  approval  as 
she  passed.  No  one  in  the  great  empty 
dining-room  except  herself.  Dozens  of 
negro  waiters  going  to  and  fro,  and  behind 
130 


MARY   LOU'S   MARRY1N' 

the  swinging-doors  such  a  chorus  of  sweet 
voices  singing,  "  Steal  away  !  Steal  away ! 
Steal  away  to  Jesus  !" — negro  voices,  so 
plaintive  and  sweet  that  they  brought  tears 
to  her  eyes.  A  high,  clear  tenor  led  the 
way;  great  soft,  rumbling  bass  voices  cra- 
dled the  others  in  a  thick  blanket  of  warm 
melody  which  swung  and  rocked  Sara's  sen- 
sitive, susceptible,  music -loving  soul,  and 
flushed  her  cheeks  with  the  rapture  of  it. 
She  awakened  to  a  realization  that  life  still 
held  something  for  her  when  such  music 
was  occasionally  to  be  heard,  and  when  such 
a  breakfast  was  being  spread.  She  smiled 
and  then  deprecated  and  finally  demurred, 
greatly  to  the  delight  of  the  friendly  waiters, 
who  put  a  breakfast  for  five  hungry  men 
around  her  modest  plate.  And  still  the 
doors  swung  open,  and  still  the  smoking 
dishes  appeared.  Quail  on  toast ;  fried 
chicken,  crisp  and  golden,  with  crumpled 
brown  edges  and  luscious  juices  of  being 
done  to  a  turn.  Waffles  as  delicate  as  egg- 
shells; honey  as  clear  as  topaz;  coffee  like 
amber,  with  a  fat  jug  of  yellow  clotted  cream ; 
beaten  biscuits,  daintily  browned,  to  say  ab- 


MARY   LOU'S   MARRYIN* 

solutely  nothing  of  the  fruit  she  was  sup- 
posed to  begin  with. 

Sarah  never  forgot  that  first  breakfast  in 
the  South,  partly  because  she  was  enough 
of  an  honest  woman  to  declare  that  she 
loved  good  things  to  eat,  partly  because  of 
the  adorable  singing  which  went  on  in  the 
kitchen,  only  interrupted  by  orders  from 
the  head  waiter  or  an  uproarious,  infectious 
burst  of  negro  laughter,  even  more  enchant- 
ing than  the  singing,  and  partly  because  a 
vision  of  loveliness  in  the  shape  of  Mary 
Lou  rushed  in  upon  her  just  as  she  was  fin- 
ishing and  gave  her  the  warmest  and  ten- 
derest  of  welcomes. 

Mr.  Henry  Battle  smiled  and  rubbed  his 
hands  with  pleasure.  All  the  men  from  the 
office  gathered  around  the  door,  the  negroes 
crowded  in  from  the  kitchen,  smiling  and 
nodding  with  sympathetic  delight.  Their  re- 
spectful interest  in  Sara's  affairs  was  not  to 
be  resented,  but  cordially  appreciated.  Mr. 
Battle  put  her  belongings  into  the  carriage, 
asked  Mary  Lou  about  all  of  the  fam- 
ily, congratulated  the  well  ones,  recom- 
mended new  medicines  for  the  sick,  ob- 
132 


MARY   LOU'S   MARRYIN' 

tallied  her  news  of  the  bad  roads,  felicitated 
the  country  in  general  upon  the  rise  in  cot- 
ton, and  put  both  girls  into  the  carriage 
with  brotherly  solicitude.  Sara  felt  some 
trepidation  in  offering  to  settle  a  bill  with 
such  an  intimate  friend  of  hers  as  he  had 
now  become,  but  he  accepted  the  amount 
with  the  same  gallant  air  with  which  he  had 
attended  to  her  wants,  probably  regarding 
it  in  the  nature  of  a  loan. 

Mary  Lou,  with  affectionate  severity, 
urged  upon  her  negro  driver  the  necessity 
of  getting  home  before  Christmas,  at  which 
he  ducked  his  head  and  grinned  delighted- 
ly A  little  black  girl,  who  would  not  ride 
on  the  front  seat  with  'Rastus,  crouched  at 
their  feet,  gazing  into  Sara's  face  with  the 
unblinking  stare  of  a  young  owl. 

In  this  fashion  they  drove  up  to  the  post- 
office,  where  Mary  Lou  went  through  simi- 
lar questionings  from  the  postmaster.  He 
was  introduced  to  "  Cousin  Sara,"  and 
adopted  her  into  his  family  as  joyfully  as 
had  Henry  Battle  and  Avery  Tuggle.  Every 
known  specimen  of  December  magazine  was 
in  the  armful  of  mail  which  Mary  Lou  stowed 


MARY    LOU'S   MARRYIN' 

under  the  seat,  and  there  were  letters — let- 
ters of  a  thickness  that  warmed  one's  heart 
to  see. 

They  drove  skilfully  between  cotton  bales 
piled  high,  and  load  upon  load  of  cotton 
seed  gathering  around  the  court-house,  and 
at  the  edge  of  town  they  drew  up  before  the 
livery-stable.  Avery  Tuggle,  an  old  friend 
by  this  time,  hurried  out  and  shook  hands 
cordially. 

"  Papa  will  send  in  for  Cousin  Sara's 
trunk,  but  you  keep  her  check.  Give  him 
your  check,  Cousin  Sara.  He  said  he 
would  send  for  it  some  time  this  week. 
He's  ginnin'  all  his  cotton  to  take  advan- 
tage of  the  rise.  Good-morninV 

"Good-mornin',  Miss  Mary  Lou,"  re- 
sponded Mr.  Tuggle.  "  Mind  you  take 
good  care  of  Miss  Sara !" 

"  Are  \ve  all  related,  Mary  Lou  ?"  asked 
Sara,  mischievously,  as  they  drove  away. 
She  told  her  experience. 

"  Laws,  no  !"  laughed  Mary  Lou.  "  Papa 
never  would  have  forgiven  Mist  Tuggle 
for  lettin'  you  start  alone.  There's  nothin' 
funny  in  that.  You  see,  we  never  got  your 


MARY   LOU'S    MARRYIN' 

letter  till  this  mornin'.  We  sent  for  the 
mail  yesterday,  but  Israel  never  brought  it 
up  to  the  house  till  about  three  hours  ago. 
Papa  just  gave  it  to  him.  Said  he'd  have 
him  shot  if  he  played  him  such  a  trick 
again.  Then  he  told  him  you  were  comin' 
on  the  '  Cannon-ball,'  and  would  be  waitin' 
there  all  this  time,  and  made  poor  old  Is- 
rael feel  mighty  bad." 

"  Every  one  was  so  cordial  and  smiling 
that  I  wondered  if  they  knew  what  I  came 
down  here  for." 

Mary  Lou  clutched  her  arm. 

"You  didn't  tell  them,  I  hope?" 

"  Tell  them  !     Don't  they  know  it  ?" 

"Whoo-ee!  No,  they  don't.  Nobody 
does.  I  wouldn't  have  them  know  for  any- 
thing in  this  world." 

"  How  can  you  keep  from  talking  of  it 
before  the  servants  ?" 

Sara  paused  in  dismay  as  she  met  the 
fixed  gaze  of  the  child  crouching  at  their 
feet. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  mind  Alice  Potts. 
Papa  calls  her  '  Non  Compos  Mentis '  half 
the  time.  She  answers  to  that  name  as  quick 
'35 


MARY   LOU'S   MARRYIN' 

as  she  does  to  'Alice.'  Just  say  something 
about  Christmas,  and  she'll  never  know. 
And  'Rastus  is  deaf.  We  don't  talk  these 
things  over  very  much  in  the  South.  If  we 
can  keep  it  a  secret  up  to  the  very  day,  we 
are  mightily  pleased  to  do  it." 

"  But  why  ?" 

"  Well,  on  plantations,  if  the  coloreds 
know  there  is  going  to  be  a  marryin',  they 
come  in  crowds.  Whole  families  shut  up 
their  houses  and  come  and  stay,  and  you've 
got  to  feed  them,  and  doctor  them  if  they 
get  sick,  and  give  them  clothes  fit  to  be  seen 
if  you  don't  want  to  be  disgraced.  Then," 
and  her  face  dropped,  "  maybe  the  girl 
changes  her  mind  at  the  last  minute,  and  it 
comes  a  little  hard  on  the  boy  if  it's  known." 

"  Naturally." 

"  You've  never  been  south  before,  Cousin 
Sara  ?" 

"  Never  so  far  as  this.  I  spent  last  sum- 
mer on  Lookout  Mountain." 

"  Oh,  that's  way  up  yonder." 

"  Mary  Lou,  tell  me  about  the  man  you 
are   going   to    m-a-r-r-y,"    spelled    Sara,   in 
deference  to  the  stare  of  Non  Compos. 
136 


MARY   LOU'S   MARRYIN' 

Mary  Lou  laughed  and  twitched  at  her 
ribbons  half  impatiently. 

"  Cousin  Sara,  would  you  be  very  much 
disappointed  if  there  shouldn't  be  any  mar- 
ryin'  after  all  ?" 

"  After  my  coming  a  thousand  miles  to 
see  you  go  through  with  it,  and  having 
brought  you  a  white  silk  dress  in  my  trunk, 
and  a  veil  and  gloves  and  shoes  to  match  ? 
Oh  no!" 

Mary  Lou  gave  a  little  bounce. 

"  Oh,  Cousin  Sara,  honest  true,  did  you  ? 
Did  you,  Cousin  Sara  ?  Go  along,  Bird ! 
You  are  the  slowest  horse  !  'Rastus,  can't 
you  make  him  keep  up  with  Fanny?" 

A  pink  flush  crept  into  her  soft  cheeks. 
She  was  a  little  puff-ball  of  femininity, 
round  and  smooth  and  distracting. 

"  It  was  to  have  been — I  mean,  it  is  to  be 
on  Christmas  Day,  because  we  can  have  all 
the  preparations  made  and  the  necessary 
cookin'  done  as  if  for  Christmas,  and  the 
negroes  will  never  suspect.  What  kind  of 
silk  is  it,  Cousin  Sara?  Oh,  lovely!  I 
must  just  give  you  another  kiss  right  this 
minute.  I  was  going  to  marry  in  a  travel- 


MARY   LOU'S    MARRYIN' 

I'm' -dress.     I    never    thought    of    a   white 
silk." 

"When  do  you  expect  to  have  your 
clothes  made  ?"  asked  Sara,  apprehensively. 

"Oh,  they  are  all  bein'  made  at  my 
dressmaker's  in  N'  Orleans.  We'll  have 
to  make  the  white  silk  ourselves.  Old 
Aunt  Sallie  sews  beautifully.  We'll  tell  her 
it  is  your  dress." 

"Well,  tell  me  about  HIM  —  my  new 
cousin." 

"  Oh,"  answered  Mary  Lou,  half  impa- 
tiently, "  he  is  big  and  fair,  with  blue  eyes, 
and  light  hair  that  would  curl  if  he  gave  it 
a  chance.  He  used  to  be  lively  and  full  of 
fun,  but  he's  so  stern  and  sad  now  that  I 
am  half  afraid  of  him.  He  won't  tell  me 
what  troubles  him.  He  says  I  am  never  to 
be  worried  by  anything,  and  that  he  owes 
it  to  me  to  make  my  life  as  free  from  sorrow 
as  he  can.  I  suppose  you  have  all  the  latest 
New  York  styles  in  your  head,  haven't  you  ?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Sara,  absently.  She 
wanted  Mary  Lou  to  talk  further  about  her 
fiancb,  but  this  she  seemed  singularly  averse 
to  do. 

138 


MARY    LOU'S   MARRYIN' 

As  they  drove  into  the  plantation  grounds 
they  were  assailed  by  a  chorus  of  dogs  and 
a  swarm  of  black  children  who  flocked  from 
the  house,  followed  by  the  various  members 
of  Mary  Lou's  family,  all  eager  to  bid  her 
welcome.  To  Sara's  surprise,  Non  Compos, 
the  silent,  the  stupid,  sprang  up  in  the  car- 
riage, waving  her  little  black  paws  and 
shrieking, 

"  We  brungher  !  We  done  fotch  de  Prin- 
cess  !  Keep  away  from  her,  Lucius  !  Don't 
tech  her  dress  wid  yo1  black  hands,  Anna ! 
You,  Lelia,  drap  my  Miss  Sara's  hand- 
baig!  I'se  gwine  ca'y  it  my  own  seff." 

Sara's  enjoyment  was  infectious.  Her 
cousins  reprimanded  the  black  children, 
whom  they  spoiled  badly,  and  made  a  soft 
clamor  over  their  kinswoman,  as  delightful 
as  it  was  unique. 

Already  the  pallor  was  leaving  Sara's 
cheeks.  She  felt  the  intoxication  of  this 
new  mood  which  had  descended  upon  her. 
Everything  was  queer  and  different,  but  she 
chose  to  enjoy  it  in  her  own  way.  She 
could  scarcely  keep  her  eyes  from  the  black 
children,  who  were  constantly  under-foot, 


MARY   LOU'S   MARRYIN' 

but  who  were  allowed  to  stay  "  in  de 
gret  house,"  to  learn  of  their  mothers,  the 
house-servants,  how  to  wait  on  the  ladies. 
It  was, 

"  Lelia,  get  Miss  Sara  a  glass  of  water;" 
or, 

"  Alice  Potts,  pick  up  Miss  Sara's  hand- 
kerchief;" or, 

"  Anna,  go  tell  Lucius  to  get  your  pretty 
Miss  Sara  some  persimmons." 

Mary  Lou  persuaded  her  father  to  send 
back  to  town  that  same  day — an  unheard- 
of  thing — for  Sara's  trunk.  When  it  came, 
she  enjoined  the  strictest  secrecy  concern- 
ing the  white  silk.  If  it  had  been  stolen, 
and  detectives  on  their  track,  the  two  girls 
could  not  have  looked  more  guilty  or  more 
conscious. 

It  was,  indeed,  as  Mary  Lou  had  said. 
The  wedding  preparations  went  forward  as 
if  for  Christmas,  and  nothing  was  said  about 
them  except  in  the  secret  recesses  of  Sara's 
room,  where,  closeted  with  Mary  Lou's 
mother,  Cousin  Sophie,  endless  discussions 
were  held. 

Finally,  Sara  could  stand  it  no  longer. 
140 


MARY   LOU'S    MARRYIN' 

"  Sophie,  do  tell  me  about  the  man  him- 
self." 

"  Why,  Cousin  Sara,  I  don't  believe  the 
child  knows  which  one  she's  going  to 
marry.  But  you  are  right.  It  certainly 
is  time  she  decided.  I  reckon  I'll  ask 
her." 

Sara  gave  up  after  that.  She  accepted 
this,  too,  as  a  part  and  parcel  of  the  new 
regime,  and  really  came  to  enjoy  the  un- 
certainty. She  made  sure  of  a  wedding  of 
some  kind  by  stipulating  that  the  white  silk 
was  for  a  wedding-dress.  It  was  bought 
for  that  purpose  ;  it  must  be  used  for  that 
purpose  —  or,  in  the  pause  which  ensued, 
Mary  Lou  had  awful  visions  of  the  dainty 
thing  being  withdrawn  from  her  enraptured 
sight  altogether  and  whisked  back  the  thou- 
sand miles  whence  it  had  come. 

The  girls,  although  so  totally  unlike, 
grew  fonder  of  each  other  daily.  They 
strolled  in  the  grounds,  followed  by  the  de- 
voted Non  Compos,  and  attended  by  Lu- 
cius, clad  in  a  cast-off  street  jacket  of  Mary 
Lou's,  whose  fulness  flapped  around  his 
lean  shanks  with  such  an  old-world  air  that 
141 


MARY   LOU'S    MARRYIN' 

Sara  named  it  "  Lucius's  surtout,"  to  his 
infinite  pride. 

So  easily  are  good  manners  corrupted,  or 
rather  are  habits  of  thrift  deposed,  that 
Sara  no  longer  wondered  why  they  did  not 
fence  the  chickens  in,  instead  of  converting 
the  violet  beds  into  brush-heaps  to  prevent 
the  flowers  from  being  eaten  bodily.  She, 
herself,  now  sent  the  children  flying  to 
drive  the  hens  away,  or  to  pile  the  brush 
higher.  She  took  a  violent  interest  in  the 
flower  pit  where  Mary  Lou  hid  her  more 
delicate  plants  from  the  mild  rigor  of  the 
Southern  winter.  She  grew  to  love  the  great 
white  house,  with  its  green  blinds  and  deep 
porch.  But  the  great  plantation  bell,  swing- 
ing like  a  grim,  black  sentinel  from  the  top 
of  a  dead  tree,  possessed  a  fascination  for 
her  which  with  difficulty  she  resisted  at  all. 

"  I  do  believe  I  shall  die,  Mary  Lou,  if  I 
can't  ring  that  bell,"  she  said,  in  one  of 
their  walks. 

"That's    the    only  thing   on    the   whole 

plantation   that  you  can't  do,"  said  Mary 

Lou.     "  It  would  bring  all    the   hands   in 

from  the  cotton-fields,  and  all  the  coloreds 

142 


MARY   LOU'S    MARRYIN' 

from  far  and  near.  It  would  make  any  one 
ridin'  along  the  big  road  turn  in  here  to 
offer  help,  for  it  means  that  somebody  is 
wanted  mighty  bad,  or  that  something  aw- 
ful has  happened  at  'The  Hollies.'  It  al- 
ways scares  me  to  hear  it,  except  at  the 
regular  times  for  it  to  ring,  and  then  it  only 
gives  a  peal  or  two.  I  do  honestly  think 
I  would  curl  up  and  die  if  I  heard  it  ring  a 
long  time." 

Sara  looked  at  it  longingly,  but  passed 
on. 

"  Miss  Sara,  take  me  back  up  North  wid 
you  when  you  go,"  cried  Non  Compos,  who 
was  skipping  along  at  her  side. 

"  Why,  Alice,  what  would  you  do  in  a 
place  where  there  are  no  grounds  for  you 
to  play  in — just  houses  and  houses?" 

"No  grounds,  Miss  Sara?" 

"  No,  none  at  all." 

The  child  stood  kicking  at  a  pile  of  dead 
leaves  in  silence  for  a  moment.  She  al- 
ways kicked  at  something  when  she  was 
about  to  think.  The  movement  of  her 
feet  seemed  to  loosen  a  tendon  in  her 
brain. 

'43 


MARY   LOU'S    MARRYIN' 

"  No  grounds,  Miss  Sara  ?  Then  what  do 
de  rain  fall  awn  ?" 

"Just  listen  at  that,"  said  Mary  Lou. 
"I  told  you  she  was  non  compos  mentis. 
Run  along,  Alice.  You  bother  Miss  Sara. 
Princess,  what  would  you  do  if  you  were  en- 
gaged to  the  wrong  man,  and  had  come  to 
the  conclusion  too  late  that  you. loved  the 
other?" 

"  I  would  break  off  the  engagement,  and 
marry  the  one  I  loved,"  said  Sara,  with  sud- 
den fire  in  her  tones. 

"  Oh,  my  Brown  Eyes  !  How  I  love  to 
see  them  light  up  !" 

"  Don't !"  gasped  Sara.  "  Don't  call  me 
that.  I — I  can't  bear  it." 

Mary  Lou  was  a  little  ball  of  thistle- 
down in  many  matters,  but  in  affairs  of  the 
heart  she  was  a  Minerva  and  a  Solomon 
rolled  into  one.  She  looked  af  her  cous- 
in's white  face  out  of  the  corners  of  her 
eyes. 

"  Some  man  has  called  her  '  Brown 
Eyes,'  "  she  thought,  shrewdly. 

"  The  man  I  love  has  brown  eyes,"  she 
said,  softly.  "  That  is  why  I  speak  of 
144 


MARY   LOU'S   MARRYIN' 

yours  so  often.  I  can't  bear  blue -eyed 
men." 

Sara  laid  her  hand  on  the  bosom  of  her 
gown,  under  which,  in  a  flat  gold  heart,  lay 
the  picture  of  a  blue-eyed  man.  She  said 
nothing. 

"  She  has  got  his  picture  in  a  locket," 
thought  Mary  Lou,  who  watched  her.  "  And, 
oh  dear,  there  are  tears  in  her  eyes." 

"  I  am  going  back  to  the  house,"  she  an- 
nounced. "  And  the  children  must  come 
with  me.  Shall  we  leave  you  to  finish  your 
walk  ?" 

"  Yes,  do.  I  will  be  back  soon,"  said 
Sara,  eagerly. 

"  She  wants  to  look  at  that  locket,  and 
think  about  him  alone.  She  needs  a  good 
cry,"  thought  Mary  Lou,  gathering  up  the 
children,  and  going  back  with  a  lovely  look 
of  sympathy  on  her  sweet  face. 

Left  alone,  Sara  drew  out  the  flat  gold 
heart  and  looked  into  the  face  of  the  man 
who  gazed  out  at  her  with  brave,  fearless 
eyes.  She  unfastened  the  chain,  and  held 
the  locket  in  her  hand.  Then  slowly  she 
took  out  a  letter,  almost  dropping  to  pieces 


MARY   LOU'S    MARRYIN' 

from  many  foldings,  and  read  it  again. 
How  many  times  she  had  read  it  already  ! 

"Although  this  letter  has  neither  begin- 
ning nor  ending,  you  will  know  from  whom 
it  comes.  Dear  heart,  let  me  call  you  so, 
although  I  have  no  right  to  ask,  and,  what 
is  worse,  I  never  shall  have.  I  am  going 
away  without  seeing  you  again.  I  am 
strong  enough  for  that,  but  God  knows 
what  might  happen  if  I  should  beg  another 
interview,  even  to  say  the  good-bye  which 
wrings  my  heart  to  write. 

"I  must  tell  you,  in  desperation  I  must 
tell  you  that  I  am  bound  to  another,  a  sweet 
girl,  whom  I  thought  I  loved  until  I  met 
you.  But  you,  you  have  shown  me  what  it 
is  to  love.  I  feel  that  I  am  both  weak  and 
false  to  her  to  tell  you  this,  but  perhaps,  af- 
ter last  night,  I  owe  it  to  you  to  paint  my- 
self in  my  true  colors,  and  let  you  despise 
me  if  you  will.  The  only  comfort  I  have  is 
that  your  heart  is  as  yet  untouched.  I  beg 
that  you  will  pardon  the  arrogance  of  the 
words  '  as  yet,'  but  I  swear  to  you,  by  the 
Heaven  above  us,  that  you  should  love  me 
if  I  were  free  to  ask  !  Yet  I  love  you  so 
146 


MARY   LOU'S   MARRYIN' 

much  that  I  am  glad  the  suffering  is  to  be 
all  mine.  I  would  only  plead  for  a  little 
regret  from  you,  which  the  tender  light  in 
your  brown  eyes  tells  me  I  should  have,  be- 
cause you  know  my  pain. 

"  I  have  tried  to  be  true  to  her,  yet  this 
whole  letter  is  a  betrayal.  I  only  ask  you 
to  believe  that  I  never  dreamed  I  loved  you 
until  last  night.  If  I  had,  I  should  have  gone 
before  now,  and  this  letter  would  only  have 
come  to  you  sooner.  It  seems  as  if  Fate 
first  tempts,  and  then  judges  inexorably.  I 
have  meant  to  do  right,  but  see  how  I  have 
fallen.  I  claim  to  be  strong,  yet  I  deliber- 
ately choose  to  send  you  this  letter  with  all 
its  fatal  weakness  apparent,  and  all  my  love 
in  its  possession. 

"  I  have  not  the  courage  to  write  a  last 
word  to  you.  Let  this  letter  be  broken  off 
as  abruptly  as  the  current  of  our  two  lives. 
I  shall  always  love  you,  my  Brown  Eyes,  al- 
ways, always  !" 

When  she  had  finished  reading,  Sara  put 
her  face  down  in  her  hands  and  wept  bitter 
tears  upon  the  face  in  the  gold  heart. 

She  was  so  intense  a  personality,  and  so 


MARY  LOU'S    MARRYIN' 

self-poised,  that  few  would  have  suspected 
her  of  the  weakness  of  the  gold  heart.  Yet 
the  few  might  have  known,  might  even  feel 
an  understanding  compassion  for  the  fool- 
ishness which  wrote  "  Toujours  "  across  the 
flat,  gold  surface.  Ah  me,  and  why  not  ? 
Are  the  self-poised  forever  debarred  from 
foolish  delights  ?  And  what  would  become 
of  the  men  if  only  the  silly,  clinging  women 
were  the  ones  to  write  "  Toujours "  across 
a  gold  heart,  and  treasure  it  against  their 
own  ? 

When  Sara  appeared  in  the  home  circle 
around  the  great  open  fire,  there  were  traces 
of  storm  in  her  face  to  Mary  Lou's  observ- 
ant eyes,  and  there  was  a  pathetic  droop  in 
her  tired  smile  which  wrung  Mary  Lou's 
faithful  heart. 

"  Miss  Sara,  will  you  write  my  letter  to 
Santa  Claw  ?"  asked  Non  Compos,  thrust- 
ing paper  and  pencil  into  her  hand.  "  Miss 
Ma'y  Lou  done  wrote  Anna's  an'  Lelia's, 
but  /want  de  Prin-wss  to  write  mine." 

"  Well,  tell  me  what  to  say,"  said  Sara. 

"  '  Dear  Santa  Claw,  thank  you  for  what 
you  brung  me  las'  Christmas,  and  please, 
148 


MARY    LOU'S    MARRYIN' 

sir,  don't  forget  me  dis  time.  I'se  been  a 
good  chile.  I  done  kep'  Miss  Sophie's 
chip-box  full,  an'  ain't  forgot  to  draw  water 
and  ain't  been  imperent,  an'  I'se  hunted 
aigs  faithful.  Please,  sir,  bring  me  a  gol' 
ring  an'  a  silk  handkercher.  An'  bring  Miss 
Sophie  her  good  health  back  again,  wot  she 
done  los'  since  col'  weather  sot  in.  An' 
bring  Mist'  Mo'  some  new  slippahs,  'case 
his  is  all  busted  out,  an'  it  don'  look  right 
for  a  gemman  to  wear  slippahs  dat  ain't  fit- 
ten  for  nobody  but  a  niggah  to  wear,  an' 
dey  would  jus'  fit  Uncle  Israel.  An'  bring 
Miss  Sara — ' 

"  Say,  Miss  Sara,"  said  the  child,  inter- 
rupting herself,  "  ain't  you  got  no  sweet- 
heart, lake  Miss  Ma'y  Lou  ?" 

"  No,  Alice,  I  haven't  any." 

"  Miss  Ma'y  Lou's  got  three  or'  fo'.  Ain't 
you  got  ary  one  ?  Ain't  you  never  gwi' 
mah'y  ?'' 

"  No,  I  think  not." 

"  Miss  Ma'y  Lou,  why  don'  you  give  Miss 
Sara  one  of  yours  ?  You  got  mo'n  you  kin 
hanT;  I  done  heard  Mammy  say  so." 

"  She  can  have  any  of  mine,  except  one," 
149 


MARY   LOU'S    MARRYIN' 

said  Mary  Lou,  laughing.  "  I  must  keep 
one  for  myself,  Alice  —  one  with  brown 
eyes." 

"  What  color  -eyes  does  you  want  your 
husbun  to  hab,  Miss  Sara  ?" 

"  Blue,  please,"  said  Sara. 

"  Now  go  awn  wid  de  letter.  I'se  gwi' 
ask  Santa  Claw  for  jus'  de  ve'y  ting  y'  all 
want  de  mos1." 

"  '  An'  bring  Miss  Sara  an'  Miss  Ma'y 
Lou  two  husbun's,  an'  don'  get  'em  mixed 
up,  'case  Miss  Ma'y  Lou  'bleeged  to  hab 
one  wid  brown  eyes,  and  Miss  Sara  got  to 
hab  de  blue-eyed  gemman.  An'  bring  Miss 
Sara's  husbun  a  red  cravat  an'  a  gol'  collar- 
button,  'case  Miss  Sara's  a  fine  lady,  an' 
she  mus'  hab  a  fine  gemman  to  mah'y." 

"The  very  thing  we  want  most,"  mur- 
mured Mary  Lou.  "  Consider  our  pain, 
Non  Compos,  to  discover  that  you  have 
divined  our  secret  with  such  unerring  skill. 
We  shall  await  Christmas  day  with  eager 
and  expectant  joy.  I  sometimes  wonder, 
Alice,  if  you  are  as  great  a  fool  as  you 
look." 

Alice  ducked   behind  Mary  Lou's  chair, 


MARY   LOU'S    MARRYIN' 

whence  she  was  promptly  rapped  out  again, 
with  a  thimble  brought  in  smart  contact 
with  her  woolly  head. 

It  came  to  be  the  day  before  Christmas. 
The  house  was  in  holiday  attire.  Invita- 
tions were  out  long  ago  for  a  Christmas 
party  in  honor  of  Cousin  Sara.  Holly 
framed  the  pictures  on  the  walls,  and 
bunches  of  mistletoe  swung  from  the  hang- 
ing lamps,  making  even  the  stateliest  prog- 
ress through  the  great  rooms  dangerous. 
In  the  yard,  for  days  the  large  brick  ovens 
had  been  harboring  goodly  sights  and  ex- 
haling goodlier  odors,  the  results  of  which 
were  now  stacked  in  kitchen  and  store- 
room. A  huge  box  from  New  York  arrived 
during  the  day  for  Sara,  with  which  she 
closeted  herself  in  her  room,  demanding 
that  no  one  should  enter  there  on  pain  of 
death.  She  only  emerged  to  take  her 
meals  with  the  family,  and  had  she  not 
been  unusually  preoccupied  she  would  have 
noticed  Mary  Lou's  pale  cheeks  and  mourn- 
ful droop. 

In  the  early  twilight  she  called  Mary  Lou 
into  her  room.  Everywhere  stood  odd- 


MARY   LOU'S    MARRYIN' 

shaped  parcels,  covered  with  newspapers  to 
conceal  their  identity.  Sara  lighted  the  can- 
dles in  their  sconces  and  began  to  dress. 

"  Well,  I've  done  it,"  said  Mary  Lou. 

"  Done  what  ?" 

"  I've  broken  my  engagement." 

"  For  the  love  of  Heaven !"  exclaimed 
Sara.  "  When  ?" 

"  Just  now.  That  was  he  you  heard  rid- 
in'  out  a  little  while  ago.  Perhaps  I  ought 
not  to  have  let  him  come." 

"  When  did  he  come,  and  why  didn't  you 
tell  me  ?" 

"  He  only  got  in  town  this  mornin',  and 
he's  going  on  this  evenin's  train — to  New 
York,  he  said,  but  what  he's  going  there 
for  I  don't  see.  I  am  just  as  mad  as  I  can 
be,  too." 

"  What  are  you  mad  at  ?  You've  been 
wanting  to  get  rid  of  him  ever  since  I  came. 
Was  he  broken-hearted  ?  Did  he  reproach 
you  and  storm  around  ?" 

"  No,"  exclaimed  Mary  Lou,  explosively. 
"  That's  just  what  is  the  matter.  He  only 
said,  '  Are  you  sure  ?  Oh,  Miss  Mary  Lou, 
are  you  sure  ?'  And  when  I  said  '  Yes,'  as 


MARY   LOU'S    MARRYIN' 

kindly  as  I  could,  for  fear  of  hurtin'  him, 
he  grabbed  my  hand  and  nearly  crushed  it, 
and  seemed  glad — actually  glad.  His  face 
was  perfectly  radiant." 

Tears  of  mortification  dimmed  Mary  Lou's 
eyes. 

Sara  finished  her  hair  in  a  hurry,  warmed 
by  Mary  Lou's  narrative,  and  struggled  with 
the  waist  of  her  gown.  One  of  the  many 
hooks  thereon  caught  in  the  invisible  chain 
which  held  her  locket  and  snapped  it,  drop- 
ping the  gold  heart  on  the  floor  at  Mary 
Lou's  feet,  where  it  lay  face  upward  and 
open.  She  glanced  down,  then  seized  and 
looked  at  it. 

"What  are  you  doin'  with  Mr.  Hilary 
Bonner's  picture  in  your  locket  ?"  she  said, 
in  a  low  tone. 

Sara  almost  gasped. 

"  How  did_>w/  know  his  name  ?"  she  said. 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  know  the  name  of  the 
man  I  was  going  to  marry,  who  rode  out  of 
these  grounds  not  half  an  hour  ago?1' 

Sara's  face  grew  wan  even  as  her  cousin 
looked  at  her.     They  stared  at  each  other 
in  a  silence  too  deep  for  words. 
'53 


MARY   LOU'S    MARRYIN' 

"  He  has  been  here,"  whispered  Sara, 
"  and  I  never  saw  him  ?  Oh,  Mary  Lou, 
and  are  you  the  girl  I've  been  envying  all 
this  year?" 

"  And  are  you  the  girl  he  was  so  glad  to 
be  rid  of  me  for  ?  Oh,  Cousin  Sara,  I'm  so 
glad  !  I'm  so  glad !  He  is  the  best  and 
the  bravest  and  the  truest  man  in  the 
world — except  one." 

"  But  he's  gone,"  whispered  Sara  again, 
still  holding  the  gold  heart  in  her  two  hands, 
and  staring  at  the  face  with  a  look  in  her 
eyes  that  Hilary  Bonner  should  have  seen. 

"  I  wonder,  if  I  sent  after  him,  if  anybody 
could  overtake  him.  Saladin  is  lame,  and 
papa  and  mamma  took  the  carriage-horses 
right  after  dinner  to  go  for  grandma.  It's 
moonlight,  so  they  won't  be  back  till  nine 
o'clock.  Lucius  couldn't  catch  a  fly  if  I 
sent  him.  Oh  dear!  oh  dear!  and  he  was 
going  on  the  evenin'  train  !  " 

"  Do  you  suppose  he  still  cares  for  me  ?" 
asked  Sara,  timidly,  searching  Mary  Lou's 
excited  face  wistfully. 

"Am  I  sure?  Of  course  I  am.  If  you 
could  have  seen  him  !  And  his  going 
154 


MARY   LOU'S    MARRYIN' 

straight  to  New  York !  Oh,  it's  like  a  book 
— it's  like  a  play  !  I'll  take  Fanny  and  go 
after  him  myself." 

"  Lucius  took  Fanny  and  went  to  town 
for  me,"  said  Sara. 

"  Then  we  can't  possibly  overtake  him. 
We'll  just  have  to  sit  still  and  let  him  go. 
And  he  breakin'  his  heart  for  you,  and  you 
breakin'  yours  for  him  !" 

Mary  Lou  wrung  her  hands. 

"  The  bell — the  plantation  bell !"  cried 
Sara. 

Mary  Lou  started  and  hesitated. 

"  There's  no  one  to  be  scared  by  it,  and 
— who  cares  if  there  is  ?"  she  cried,  in  glad 
defiance  of  a  law  of  her  childhood.  She 
sprang  up,  and  the  two  girls  rushed  from  the 
house  and  made  straight  for  the  dead  tree 
from  which  swung  the  black  sentinel  of 
"  The  Hollies." 

Mary  Lou  seized  the  bell-rope,  but  Sara 
laid  a  detaining  hand  on  her  arm. 

"Oh,  Mary  Lou,  suppose  he  shouldn't 
want  to  come  back,"  she  said,  with  strange 
timidity. 

"  He  needn't  know  that  you  want  him. 
'55 


MARY    LOU'S    MARRYIN' 

I'll  tell  him  I  did  it— that  he  forgot  his 
gloves !"  cried  Mary  Lou,  stoutly.  She 
leaned  to  the  bell-rope,  and  a  startled  peal 
cut  the  crisp  air,  which  sent  a  tingle  along 
Sara's  nerves  like  electricity.  Louder, 
faster,  gayer  swung  the  bell.  The  negroes 
swarmed  in  from  their  cabins.  Lanterns 
flashed  to  and  fro  in  the  soft  gloom,  and 
overhead  the  pale  moon  was  riding  high  in 
the  heavens,  growing  brighter  and  clearer 
as  the  shadows  deepened  upon  the  earth 
she  watched. 

"  Wha's  de  mattah,  chile  ?  Wha'  foh  you 
ring  dat  bell  ?"  they  cried,  gathering  around 
her. 

"  Because  to-morrow's  Christmas  !"  cried 
Mary  Lou,  growing  more  reckless  with  the 
intoxication  of  the  sounds  and  life  she 
stirred  with  her  clangor. 

A  burst  of  wriggling  laughter  answered 
her. 

"  Dat's  so  !  'Fo'  Gawd,  de  chile's  right ! 
Ring  'em  out,  Miss  Ma'y  Lou.  Hit  sho 
do  soun'  putty  to  hear  de  Christmas  bells 
a-ringin'  in  de  ole  plantation  groun's  once 
mo' !" 

156 


MARY    LOU'S   MARRYIN' 

They  scattered  to  their  homes  again,  as 
satisfied  and  delighted  as  children. 

"  We  are  ringin'  our  weddin'  -  bells, 
Cousin  Sara !"  cried  Mary  Lou,  ringing 
more  madly  than  ever. 

"  Ours  ?"  exclaimed  Sara. 

"  Yes,  I'm  going  to  marry  the  brown-eyed 
husband  that  Alice  ordered  for  me." 

"  Hush  a  minute,"  urged  Sara. 

Mary  Lou  paused.  Sara  was  shaking  like 
a  leaf.  "  Will  he  know  that  we  want  him  if 
he  hears  it  ?" 

"  Of  course  he  will.  So  will  everybody 
else.  I  only  hope  that  a  dozen  others 
won't  happen  along  the  road  just  now." 

"  Listen !"  cried  Mary  Lou.  "  I  heard  a 
horse  —  but  there  are  wheels,  too.  That 
isn't  Hilary.  He  was  on  horseback." 

They  listened  eagerly.  Soon  a  buggy, 
with  the  horse  lashed  into  a  gallop,  came 
into  view,  turned  in  at  "  The  Hollies,"  and 
Lucius,  his  face  ashen  with  fright,  tumbled 
out,  while  poor  Fanny  heaved  and  panted 
as  a  petted  horse  always  does  if  she  ever 
goes  out  of  a  trot. 

"  Foil — foil  de  Lawd's  sake,  Miss  Ma'y 
'57 


MARY    LOU'S    MARRYIN' 

Lou,"  stammered  Lucius,  "  wha — wha's  de 
mattah  ?     Is  Mist'  Mo'  daid  ?" 

"  No,  nobody  is  dead.  But  to-morrow  is 
Christmas,  and  I  knew  you'd  come  crawl- 
in'  home  about  New  Year's,  wantin'  to 
hang  up  your  stockin'  if  I  didn't  hurry  you 
up  some.  Go  'long  and  feed  Fanny — mind 
you  rest  her  and  rub  her  down  first.  I'm 
going  to  ring  the  bell  some  more." 

"Oh,  don't!"  cried  Sara,  almost  in  tears. 
"  He's  too  far  away.  He  can't  hear." 

But  Mary  Lou's  spirits  were  now  at  a 
pitch  when  she  wanted  to  ring  the  bell  at 
any  cost.  She  swayed  to  and  fro,  bending 
her  weight  to  bring  forth  a  great,  sonorous 
clangor,  which  made  Sara  mute  with  appre- 
hension. 

Presently  she  stopped  of  her  own  accord. 

"  Now,  if  he  hasn't  heard  by  this  time,  it 
is  too  late,"  she  said. 

They  stood  hand  in  hand,  listening  with 
bated  breath. 

"  I  hear  him,"  whispered  Mary  Lou,  pull- 
ing at  her  cousin's  hand.  "  Don't  you?" 

"No." 

"  Now  do  you  ?" 

'58 


MARY   LOU'S    MARRYIN' 

"  I  hear  somebody,  but  perhaps  it  is  not 
he." 

"  But  I  know  it  is.  Hear  him  !  Nobody 
except  Hilary  can  ride  like  that,  and  over 
these  roads.  Hear  him  ride  !" 

Mary  Lou  was  quite  wild  with  excite- 
ment. Some  of  it  subtly  communicated  it- 
self to  Sara.  She  seized  the  white  shawl 
from  Mary  Lou's  shoulders,  and,  flinging  it 
over  her  head,  she  sped  down  the  drive  to 
the  big  gate,  which  Lucius  had  left  open. 

She  stood  trembling  between  hope  and 
fear.  Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  hoof- 
beats  of  a  madly  ridden  horse.  She  looked 
down  the  road,  and  in  the  pale  moonlight 
she  saw  the  figure  of  his  gallant  rider,  a 
part,  a  parcel  of  the  swift  motion  beneath 
him.  The  horse,  dripping  with  foam, 
swerved  in  at  the  gate,  and  at  the  sight  of 
Sara  the  rider  flung  himself  out  of  the  sad- 
dle, splashed  with  mud  from  head  to  foot, 
almost  at  her  very  feet.  He  had  expect- 
ed to  see  Mary  Lou,  but  terror  at  the 
bell's  summons  and  all  other  apprehensions 
merged  into  his  incredulous  delight  at  be- 
ing confronted  instead  with  the  deep  eyes 


MARY   LOU'S   MARRYIN' 

whose  rays  had  fired  his  heart  on  Lookout 
Mountain,  when  he  had  first  loved  her  and 
had  written  that  letter. 

They  remembered  to  come  into  the  house 
at  last.  Mary  Lou  met  them  with  a  whim- 
sical smile  lurking  in  the  corners  of  her 
mouth. 

"  Howdy,  Cousin  Hilary?"  she  said,  de- 
murely. 

Hilary  Bonner  laughed  in  proud  delight 
at  Sara's  furious  blushes,  and  caught  both 
of  Mary  Lou's  hands  in  his. 

"  She  has  been  telling  me  about  it.  It 
is  all  your  doing,  you  dear,  generous  little 
woman." 

The  quick  tears  sprang  to  Mary  Lou's 
eyes.  She  turned  away  to  hide  them. 

"  For  mercy's  sake,  Cousin  Sara !"  she 
cried.  "  You've  ruined  your  dress.  It's  mud 
from  head  to  foot.  How  in  the  world — ' 
She  paused,  and  glanced  at  Hilary,  but  he 
was  studying  the  holly  branches  on  the  wall, 
and  Sara  had  discreetly  vanished. 

On  Christmas  morning  the  air  was  thick 
with    exclamations    of   "  Christmas    gif !" 
"Christmas  gif !"  as  Alice  and  Anna,  Lucius 
1 60 


MARY   LOU'S   MARRYIN' 

and  Lelia  built  the  fires  by  candlelight,  and 
forced  the  family  to  eat  breakfast  at  dawn, 
in  order  to  hasten  the  time  when  they 
would  be  "  Santa  Clawed." 

The  servants,  old  and  young,  with  no  end 
of  unexpected  relatives  and  camp-followers, 
gathered  in  the  parlor  to  view  the  mysteries 
of  the  bundles  hidden  therein.  As  per 
previous  announcement,  the  children's  work 
for  the  day  had  all  been  done,  churning 
finished,  wood  and  water  brought,  every- 
thing cleared  away,  hearths  painted,  and  a 
roaring,  picturesque  wood  fire  built  in  every 
room.  The  chair  which  held  their  stock- 
ings was  uncovered,  and  with  a  howl  of  de- 
light they  sprang  upon  their  property  and 
undid  it,  "  just  as  if,"  said  Cousin  Lisle, 
"  they  had  not  had  the  identical  things 
every  Christmas  since  they  were  born." 

The  family  were  in  gales  of  laughter  over 
the  antics  caused  by  the  wonders  contained 
in  Sara's  box.  How  appropriate  a  blue- 
gauze  fan  seemed  to  old  Aunt  Sallie,  and  a 
card-case  to  the  mother  of  the  twins  !  Every 
one  got  what  had  been  asked  for  in  the  let- 
ters to  Santa  Glaus. 

L  161 


MARY  LOU'S   MARRYIN' 

Presently  Non  Compos  wrenched  her 
gaze  away  from  her  precious  gold  ring  and 
pulled  at  Sara's  hand. 

"  Miss  Sara,"  she  whispered,  "I  don't  see 
no  husbuns." 

"  Go  out  and  look,  Alice.  Ask  Cousin 
Lisle  if  he  saw  any." 

She  came  back  radiant. 

"  He's  out  dah  talkin'  to  Mist'  Hilary 
Bonnah  an'  Mist'  Clinton  Millah.  He  say 
he  b'leeve  he  did  see  'em  skitin'  aroun' 
some  befo'  breakfas'.  He  say  he  reckon 
dey  roost  in  de  trees  wid  de  tuckeys,  an'  he 
gwi'  hab  'em  shuck  down  foh  me,  soon's 
I  fin'  him  de  tree  dey's  in.  He  say  he 
b'leeve  it's  jest  gwi'  to  rain  husbuns  at  '  De 
Hollies '  dis  day,  an'  Mist'  Hilary  Bon- 
nah an'  Mist'  Clinton  Millah  lake  to  bust 
dey  sides  a-laffin'  at  him." 

Towards  evening  the  gathering  of  the 
clans  began.  Buggies  and  carriages  filed 
into  the  grounds,  negroes  ran  about  shout- 
ing contrary  directions,  caring  for  horses, 
removing  wraps,  shaking  out  tumbled  dress- 
es, supplying  pins,  even  needles  and  thread 
when  needed.  Mary  Lou  was  not  to  be  seen. 
162 


MARY   LOU'S    MARRYIN' 

Everybody  met  Cousin  Sara,  who,  in  a 
pink  gown  which  matched  her  cheeks,  had 
a  strange  fashion  of  disappearing  every 
once  in  a  while.  Mr.  Bonner's  tall,  soldierly 
figure  also  had  a  way  of  being  in  unmis- 
takable proximity  to  the  pink  gown,  and 
at  the  sight  of  his  bronzed  face  and  intent 
gaze  the  pink  flush  always  deepened. 

There  were  lights  and  music  and  flow- 
ers. There  were  fresh,  sweet  faces,  and 
soft,  melodious  voices,  much  laughter,  and 
a  general  air  of  Christmas  gayety  in  the 
holly -trimmed  rooms.  And  suddenly  a 
hush,  when  out  from  among  the  throng, 
which  parted  to  give  them  place,  walked 
Mary  Lou  in  her  sweet  white  silk,  with  Mr. 
Clinton  Miller,  who  paused  in  the  centre  of 
the  drawing-room  floor,  just  under  the  most 
generous  cluster  of  mistletoe.  And  in  the 
surprised  silence  the  preacher's  voice  was 
heard  in  the  solemn  words  which  gave  Mary 
Lou  another's  name,  even  as  she  long  ago 
had  given  her  heart  into  another's  keeping. 

A  brief  moment,  and  Mary  Lou's  marry- 
ing, so  admirably  kept  secret,  was  un  fait 
accompli,  a  thing  to  talk  about  and  to  emu- 
163 


MARY   LOU'S    MARRYIN' 

late  for  years  to  come,  in  its  secrecy  and 
dispatch,  and  complete  fulfilment  of  all  re- 
quirements. 

Everybody,  including  Mr.  Hilary  Bon- 
ner,  looked  so  radiantly  happy  that  sounds 
of  woe  disturbed  his  kindly  heart.  He 
sought  out  the  mourner,  and  discovered 
poor  little  Non  Compos  on  the  porch  in  the 
dark,  sobbing  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 
All  day  long  she  had  wandered  around  un- 
noticed, gazing  into  the  tree-tops,  whence 
she  had  the  solemn  assurance  that  the 
promised  husbands  would  come.  Mr.  Bon- 
ner  drew  forth  the  story  of  her  deception. 

"An'  if  cley  did  come  now."  she  wound 
up,  with  a  final  burst  of  tears,  "  it's  too 
dark  for  me  to  fin'  'em.  I  didn't  see  Mist' 
Millah  drap,  an'  Miss  Ma'y  Lou  done  foun' 
him  widout  me.  Now,  if  Miss  Sara's  comes, 
I  cain't  see  him,  an'  I  did  want  to  take  de 
Prin-rm  her  husbun  wid  my  own  hand." 

"Poor  little  soul!"  said  Mr.  Bonner. 
"  Cheer  up,  Alice.  You  can  take  me ! 
There  is  Miss  Sara  standing  in  the  door. 
Let's  go  to  her.  I'll  be  her  husband,  if  she 
will  let  me." 

164 


MARY   LOU'S   MARRYIN' 

Alice  sprang  up  enchanted,  and  dragged 
him  into  the  light  which  streamed  from  one 
of  the  windows. 

"  Has  you  got  blue  eyes?"  she  demanded. 
"De  Pr'm-tess  p'intedly  said  her  husbun 
mus'  hab  blue  eyes." 

"  Bless  her  dear  heart !"  murmured  Mr. 
Hilary  Bonner  fatuously. 

Hand  in  hand,  the  two  oddly  assorted 
companions  walked  up  to  where  Sara  stood 
alone.  Alice's  face,  polished  by  her  tears 
into  a  glister  resembling  a  kitchen  stove, 
was  resplendent  with  generous  enthusiasm. 

"  Dear  Miss  Prin-tess,"  she  whispered, 
"  Santa  Claw  sont  you  a  husbun  wid  blue 
eyes,  lake  I  done  axed  him !" 


THE   STRIKE   AT   THE   "BILLY 
BOWLEGS" 


THE   STRIKE   AT   THE   "BILLY 
BOWLEGS" 


THE  miners  of  the  "  Billy  Bowlegs  "  had 
struck.  At  twelve  o'clock,  on  the  2oth  of 
December,  two  hundred  of  them,  regardless 
of  the  women's  prayers  and  tears,  walked 
out.  To  be  sure  they  might  starve  be- 
fore the  owners  of  the  mine,  Boston  men, 
would  consider  their  claims  and  settle,  for 
Cactus  Camp  was  only  a  mining  hamlet  in 
Southern  New  Mexico ;  but  the  miners  had 
ill-considered  that  possibility.  The  week 
before,  they  had  been  visited  by  the  editor 
of  the  Labor  War  Cry,  who  had  made  sev- 
eral speeches,  in  which  he  set  forth  their 
wrongs.  They  were  the  sort  of  men  who 
nurse  their  wrath  against  capital  for  no 
169 


STRIKE  AT  THE  "BILLY   BOWLEGS " 

other  reason  than  that  they  are  poor  and 
others  are  rich.  Unreasoning  hatred  against 
a  class  of  whom  personally  they  know  abso- 
lutely nothing  smouldered  continually  in 
their  minds.  Anybody  with  a  tongue  in  his 
head  could  stir  it  up.  It  was  always  ready 
and  willing  to  leap  into  a  flame  at  a  breath. 
Perhaps  with  these  men  of  the  "  Billy  Bow- 
legs  "  the  sight  of  the  rich  ore  they  mined 
was  a  constant  reminder  that  there  were 
people  in  the  outside  world  who  revelled  in 
the  gold  and  silver  their  toil  produced,  and 
of  which  they  received  such  a  meagre  share. 
But,  more  than  all,  it  was  the  native  anar- 
chy which  forever  breeds  in  the  souls  of  a 
certain  class  in  America,  of  which  the  miners 
of  the  "  Billy  Bowlegs  "  were  shining  exam- 
ples. 

In  this  instance  they  considered  that 
they  had  a  hold  upon  the  mine -owners 
which  would  serve  to  bring  them  to  book. 
It  was  that  they  had  just  struck  the  richest 
vein  of  ore  yet  discovered  in  the  rich  "  Bil- 
ly Bowlegs."  In  these  hard  times,  Peters, 
the  ringleader,  urged  upon  the  men  that 
the  mine-owners  would  not  be  so  foolish  as 
170 


STRIKE   AT  THE   "BILLY   BOWLEGS" 

to  stand  out  on  the  fifty-cents-a-day  raise 
which  they  demanded  when  this  new  vein 
had  just  caused  the  stock  to  advance  one 
hundred  and  ten  points. 

There  were  but  two  men  in  Cactus  Camp 
whose  fortunes  would  not  be  affected  by 
this  strike.  One  was  the  telegraph-opera- 
tor, and  the  other  was  the  clerk  in  the  gen- 
eral store  which  purveyed  to  all  the  wants 
of  the  miners. 

The  third  day  after  the  strike  had  been 
declared,  Carson,  the  clerk,  closed  up  the 
store  and  crossed  the  street  to  the  tele- 
graph-office. He  often  wished  that  this 
telegraph-office,  which  was  the  one  thing  in 
camp  which  was  not  in  the  grasp  of  the 
store,  could  have  been  placed  there,  not 
so  much  from  the  idea  of  greed,  not  be- 
cause his  department-store  desired  to  be- 
come the  one  monopoly  of  Cactus  Camp,  as 
because  he  wanted  company.  There  were 
long,  lonely  nights  in  that  isolated  mining- 
camp,  and  many  of  them  when  the  friendly 
clicking  of  the  companionable  little  ma- 
chine would  have  been  almost  as  welcome 
as  a  human  voice. 

171 


STRIKE   AT  THE   "BILLY   BOWLEGS  " 

Carson,  although  perhaps  the  loneliest 
man  in  camp  since  his  wife  and  baby  died, 
had  been  one  of  the  most  social.  His 
whole  nature  craved  companionship,  the 
companionship  of  woman,  and,  failing  that, 
the  companionship  of  man.  He  was  said 
to  be  "  down  on  his  luck."  No  one  knew 
his  personal  history,  except  that  he  and  his 
brother,  in  prospecting,  had  discovered  the 
"Billy  Bowlegs."  The  ore  on  the  surface 
was  not  particularly  compact,  but,  even 
scattered  though  it  was,  it  was  so  rich  that 
they  considered  that  it  was  decidedly  worth 
while.  They  staked  their  claim,  put  all 
their  money  into  it,  and  took  nothing  out. 
All  the  ore  seemed  to  be  on  the  surface. 
Disappointed,  yet  hopeful  with  the  hopeful 
fever  of  mining,  they  borrowed  money,  and 
went  deeper  —  deeper  into  the  mine,  and 
deeper  into  debt.  For  six  years  they  wast- 
ed their  time  and  their  money  in  the  mine, 
until  finally,  disheartened,  they  offered  the 
mine  and  all  their  mining  property  to  the 
banker  who  had  lent  them  five  thousand 
dollars.  He  demurred.  He  did  not  want 
the  mine.  He  did  want  his  money.  He 
172 


STRIKE   AT  THE  "BILLY   BOWLEGS" 

had  more  faith  in  it  than  they.  He  offered 
to  extend  the  loan,  and  let  them  have  more, 
but  they  refused.  So  they  sold  the  "  Billy 
Bowlegs  "  for  five  thousand  dollars.  The 
very  next  week — not  the  next  year,  nor  in 
ten  years,  but  the  very  next  week — the  new 
owners  struck  a  vein  which  yielded  a  hundred 
dollars  a  ton,  and  within  a  year  the  stock  of 
the  "Billy  Bowlegs"  was  the  most  valuable 
in  the  market,  and  the  share -holders  were 
on  the  high-road  to  fortune. 

People  forget  easily.  Few,  even  of  the 
miners  who  had  heard  this  story,  remem- 
bered that  Tom  Carson,  who  lived  so  silent- 
ly in  their  midst,  had  just  missed  fortune 
by  a  hair's-breadth.  Carson  was  the  only 
man  in  camp  who  had  good  reason  to  hate 
the  capitalists,  who  were  gathering  in  the 
millions  which  should  have  been  his,  or 
who  bore  in  his  own  soul  a  justification,  if 
such  there  be,  for  the  anarchy  which  poi- 
soned the  camp.  But,  curiously  enough,  he 
was  the  one  man  who  was  free  from  the 
taint.  Even  Scott,  the  telegraph-operator, 
who  kept  his  views  to  himself,  was  thought 
to  be  friendly  to  the  strikers. 
173 


STRIKE  AT  THE  "BILLY   BOWLEGS  " 

On  this  evening  Carson  went  over  to  see 
him.  The  machine  clicked  pleasantly  on 
the  table. 

"Hullo,  Scott!" 

"  Hullo,  Carson  1" 

"  Sort  of  nice,  friendly,  homey  sound  the 
little  fellow  has,"  said  Carson,  jerking  his 
head  in  the  direction  of  the  machine. 
"  Seems  the  next  best  thing  to  hearin'  the 
tea-kettle  a-singin'  on  the  stove." 

"  Hum  !  Guess  you  wouldn't  say  it  sound- 
ed like  no  tea-kettle  if  you  heard  the  mes- 
sage it  ticked  .off  just  before  you  came  in. 
It's  to  Peters,  in  answer  to  the  letter  he 
sent  the  boss  three  days  ago." 

"  What  does  he  say  ?  Does  he  give  'em 
the  raise  ?" 

"Raise?  Not  much.  He  gives  'em 
the  devil.  He  says,  '  Troops  from  Fort 
Bliss  ordered  to  Cactus  Camp.  Absolute- 
ly'no  other  reply.  Withdraw  demand  or 
fight.' " 

"Good  Lord,  you  mustn't  give  'em  that 

message !"    exclaimed    Carson,    anxiously. 

"  It'll  be  like  a  spark  to  powder.    They  are 

just  crazy  enough,  with  the  whiskey  and  the 

174 


STRIKE   AT   THE  "BILLY    BOWLEGS" 

women  cryin'  and  beggin'  'em  to  back  down, 
to  fight  like  Injuns." 

"  Not  give  'em  the  message  ?  I  got  to 
give  it  to  'em.  I  can't  keep  the  thing  back. 
Besides,  what's  the  use  ?  My  not  tellin'  'em 
wouldn't  keep  the  troops  away." 

"  That's  so,"  said  Carson,  thoughtfully. 

"  Seems  to  me  that's  a  mighty  short, 
sharp  message  to  send  the  boys,  slap-dab, 
without  any  temporizin'  or  soft  solder  first 
to  let  'em  down  easy.  It  '11  make'  em  crazy." 

"  I  suppose  it's  all  along  of  the  Lead- 
ville  and  Cripple  Creek  troubles.  The  boss 
means  to  begin  where  the  other  fellows  left 
off.  Well,  it  will  only  end  things  for  every- 
body quicker." 

Scott  glanced  at  Carson  hastily.  Car- 
son's chair  was  tilted  back  against  the  wall, 
his  chin  was  bent  forward  on  his  chest,  and 
his  hands  were  dug  down  deep  into  the 
pockets  of  his  trousers.  He  was  staring 
moodily  at  the  floor. 

"  Sorter  down  on  your  luck  to-night,  old 
man,  aren't  you  ?" 

"  'Tain't    my    luck,"    returned    Carson, 
moodily.     "  I  was  thinkin  about  Jim." 
'75 


STRIKE  AT  THE  "BILLY   BOWLEGS " 

"  What  about  Jim  ?" 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  Why,  two  weeks  ago 
he  sent  for  his  wife  and  baby.  He's  been 
savin'  up  for  a  year  to  do  it,  and  she  at 
home  in  Maine,  waitin'  to  get  word  to 
come.  She  packed  up  the  minute  she  got 
the  letter,  sold  all  the  stuff  except  what  she 
was  goin'  to  bring,  and  started  the  very  day 
of  the  strike.  She  ought  to  be  here  to-mor- 
row. Just  think  what  she's  comin'  to  !  Jim 
out  of  a  job,  and  so  sick  he  can  hardly 
stand — you  know  he's  got  consumption,  and 
maybe  she's  comin'  here  to  starve." 

"  Lord,  that's  tough  !"  exclaimed  Scott. 
"  If  there  is  to  be  fightin',  she  stands  two 
chances  of  bein'  a  widow.  Don't  see  how 
she  can  miss  it  exactly." 

"  The  baby  is  just  three  years  old,  Jim 
says,"  added  Carson. 

"  That  so  ?"  said  Scott,  vaguely. 

"  Mine  was  just  that  old  when  he  died," 
said  Carson,  gently. 

"  Didn't  know  you  ever  had  one,"  said 
Scott,  awkwardly. 

"  Didn't  you  ?"  said  Carson,  raising  his 
head.  "  Oh  yes,  you  did.  You  must  have 
176 


STRIKE  AT  THE  "BILLY   BOWLEGS " 

known,  but  you've  forgotten.  It  doesn't 
mean  much  to  a  man  when,  a  baby  dies,  un- 
less it's  his  baby.  Why,  the  mine's  named 
for  him!  My  wife  named  it.  She  had  a 
sight  of  fun  in  her.  I  used  to  call  the  little 
chap  '  Billy  Bowlegs,'  because  his  little  legs 
weren't  quite  straight  when  he  was  born — 
they  grew  straight  before  he  walked,  though 
— and  Katie  said,  when  we  struck  ore, 
'  Let's  call  it  the  "  Billy  Bowlegs."  It  may 
bring  us  luck.'  So  we  did.  She  was  the 
merriest -hearted  little  woman  you  ever 
saw." 

"  What's  become  of  her  1"  asked  Scott, 
sympathetically. 

"  Dead,"  said  Carson,  shortly. 

Scott  was  silent  from  embarrassment. 
He  had  never  heard  Carson  talk  in  this 
way  before. 

"Yes,  everybody  belongin'  to  me  is 
dead.  As  fur  as  I  am  concerned,  it  makes 
no  difference  whether  this  strike  is  on  or 
off.  My  job  is  secure,  and  so  is  yours.  It's 
just  my  luck  to  be  safe  from  harm  now 
that  I'm  all  alone,  and  nobody  to  share  it 
or  care  whether  I  live  or  die.  There's  Jim, 
M  177 


STRIKE   AT  THE  "BILLY   BOWLEGS " 

now.  I  declare  I'm  a  little  tender  when  I 
think  of  Jim's  wife  and  the  baby.  I  wish 
we  could  do  something." 

"  Do  you  know  what  night  it  is?"  asked 
Scott. 

Carson  glanced  at  the  calendar. 

"  Christmas  eve  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Christ- 
mas eve  !  Four  years  ago  we  were  just  get- 
tin'  ready  for  the  biggest  Christmas  tree  for 
our  little  feller,  with  candles  on  it,  and  cran- 
berries and  pop-corn  enough  to  set  a  child 
crazy  to  look  at  it,  an'  he  never  lived  to  see 
it.  Took  sick  and  died  as  quick  as  that. 
I've  always  wished  I  could  see  some  little 
fellow's  eyes  shine  over  a  Christmas  tree 
like  we  were  goin'  to  give  Billy.  Do  you 
think  we  could  get  up  one  for  Jim's  baby  ?" 

"  I  s'pose  we  could  get  it  up  all  right,  but 
what  would  be  the  good,  with  him  out  of  a 
job  and  the  strike  on  ?" 

"  Well,  if  you'll  just  hold  that  message 
over  till  to-morrow  night,  we  could  give  'em 
one  Christmas  that  they'd  never  forget, 
even  if  it  was  over  most  before  they  knew 
it.  Will  you  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  as  there  would  be  any 
178 


STRIKE  AT  THE  "BILLY   BOWLEGS" 

harm,"  said  Scott,  dubiously.  "They  can't 
send  anywhere  for  arms  or  ammunition. 
We're  too  fur  away  from  the  railroad.  I 
don't  see  who  could  be  hurt  by  it." 

"  I  don't,  either.  And  it  does  seem  a  pity 
to  spoil  Christmas.  It  comes  so  seldom. 
I  declare  I'd  just  like  to  see  that  little  fel- 
ler's eyes  when  he  sees  the  tree  I'd  make 
for  him.  I'll  make  it  just  as  near  like  the 
one  I  made  four  years  ago  as  two  peas.  I'll 
— say,  will  you  help  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  will,  by  George  !"  cried  Scott. 
"I'll  hold  this  message  over,  if  I  lose  my 
job  for  it !  Shall  we  tell  Jim  ?" 

"  Of  course,  let's  tell  Jim.  Half  the  fun 
will  be  in  letting  old  Jim  help.  Come  on 
over  to  the  store.  I'll  open  her  up  and  get 
the  things  out  now." 

"  No,  I'll  go  and  cut  the  tree." 

"  Do  you  think  you'll  get  the  right  kind  ? 
Mine  was  about  so  high  and  straight. 
You'll  find  some  over  by  the — " 

"  I  know — I  know,"  said  Scott,  hastily. 
"  No  wonder  Carson  ain't  a  success,"  he 
thought,  as  the  other  hurried  away.  "  No- 
body ever  is  that's  so  took  up  with  other 
179 


STRIKE  AT  THE  "BILLY   BOWLEGS" 

people's  troubles  and  other  people's  Christ- 
mases  the  way  he  is.  You've  got  to  stick 
to  business  and  look  out  for  Number  One, 
and  let  the  other  fellow  go  to  the  devil,  if 
you  expect  to  make  anything  in  this  world. 
Lord,  what  a  God -forsaken  spot  a  mining- 
camp  is  on  Christmas !" 

He  took  an  axe  and  a  lantern.  Then  he 
went  out  and  made  his  way  to  the  grave- 
yard to  cut  his  Christmas  tree. 


Carson  went  out  to  get  Jim.  He  found 
him  in  his  little  cabin,  coughing  and  shiver- 
ing in  spite  of  the  mild  weather.  His  gen- 
tle eyes  were  feverishly  bright,  and  his  thin 
form  was  almost  racked  to  pieces  with  every 
cough. 

"  Come  in,  Carson,  come  in,"  he  said, 
eagerly.  "  It  does  me  good  to  have  you 
drop  in.  I  was  thinking  I  shouldn't  get 
much  sleep  to-night.  I'm  too  excited  over 
Mollie's  coming,  and  the  baby's.  I  call 
him  the  baby  yet,  but  he  must  be  too  big 
for  that  now." 

180 


STRIKE   AT   THE  "BILLY   BOWLEGS" 

"You  sure  she'll  be  here  to-morrow?" 
asked  Carson. 

"  Sure  !  I've  heard  from  her.  She  came 
on  the  train  I  expected,  and  hurried  right 
on.  Fresno  has  seen  her.  He  got  to  camp 
to-night.  He  said  she  was  well,  and  that 
she  was  pretty.  Fresno  actually  said  that, 
and  he  said  the  boy  was  a  peach.  He  said 
she  was  so  excited  at  getting  here  that  he 
never  told  her  about  the  strike.  He  said 
he  guessed  she'd  know  soon  enough." 

Carson's  mind  was  filled  with  her. 
Young,  pretty,  and  excited  with  the  idea  of 
seeing  her  husband  —  that  poor,  shrunken 
figure,  hovering  over  the  fire  with  his  trans- 
parent fingers  held  out  to  the  blaze. 

"  Seems  to  me  you're  worse  to  -  night, 
Jim." 

"  Me  ?  Of  course  I'm  worse !  Why 
shouldn't  I  be  worse  to  give  poor  Mollie 
the  most  forlorn  welcome  possible.  The 
doctor  says  this  mining  is  killing  me.  I 
got  better  the  first  few  months  I  was  West. 
Then  I  took  to  mining,  and  I've  got  worse 
ever  since.  The  climate  alone  would  cure 
me  if  I  could  take  advantage  of  it." 
181 


STRIKE  AT   THE  "BILLY    BOWLEGS" 

"  I  believe  it  would.  It's  cured  worse 
cases  than  yours.  Say,  Jim,  I've  been 
thinkin'  about  goin'  back  East  to  my  folks, 
only  I  don't  know  of  anybody  I'd  care  to 
leave  the  store  with.  Do  you  believe  you'd 
like  that  job  ?" 

Jim  got  up  and  crossed  over  to  Carson 
with  a  fierce,  wild  glare  of  eagerness  in  his 
face. 

"Like  it  ?"  he  cried.  "Like  it  ?  Why,  old 
man,  I'd  rather  have  it  than  anything  else 
in  the  world  !  Do  you  mean  it  ?  Oh,  to 
think  that  I  haven't  brought  Mollie  and  the 
baby  here  to  starve  !" 

He  wrung  Carson's  hand.  Then  he  sat 
down  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  His 
thin  shoulders  heaved. 

"  Look  here,  Jim  !  Don't  do  that.  I've 
got  another  little  scheme.  Scott's  gone  out 
to  cut  a  Christmas  tree,  and  we  thought  if 
you'd  brace  up  and  help  us  we'd  rig  up  a 
tree  for  the  boy  to-morrow  that  would  please 
your  wife.  We  must  show  her  that  she 
hasn't  come  to  the  jumping-off  place." 

Young.  Pretty.  With  blue  eyes,  per- 
haps, like  Katie's.  And  the  boy?  He 
182 


STRIKE   AT  THE  "BILLY   BOWLEGS" 

wondered  if  he  would  remind  him  of 
Billy. 

Jim's  exclamation  of  delight  roused  him. 

"  Come  on,  then !  Let's  go  over  to  the 
store  and  get  the  things.  I — I've  got  my 
mind  about  made  up  as  to  how  we  can 
trim  the  tree.  Can  you  string  cranber- 
ries ?" 

"  Can  I  ?  I've  strung  barrels  of  them 
back  in  the  State  of  Maine.  And  pop-corn, 
too." 

"  That's  the  ticket !"  cried  Carson,  de- 
lightedly, hunching  his  great  form  along 
beside  Jim's  slight  one.  "  I  declare,  you 
look  better  already,  old  man.  I  believe 
you'll  get  well  in  spite  of  all  we  can  do  to 
kill  you  off." 

Jim  laughed  gleefully.  The  sound  fell 
curiously  on  the  sullen  air  of  Cactus  Camp. 
A  door  opened  as  they  passed,  and  a  wom- 
an thrust  her  head  out  to  see  who  could 
feel  like  laughing  at  such  a  time  as  that. 
Her  grim  face  relaxed  when  she  saw  Jim. 
She  thought,  because  of  his  wife  and  child, 
that  he  was  the  only  one  in  Cactus  Camp 
so  privileged.  "  And  God  knows  he  has 
'83 


STRIKE   AT  THE  "BILLY    BOWLEGS " 

little  enough  call  to  laugh,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, as  she  closed  the  door. 

"  Who  was  that  ?"  asked  Carson. 

"  It  was  Peters's  wife.  Poor  woman ! 
She  knows  Peters  is  off  somewhere  with 
the  boys  drinking,  and  trying  to  bolster 
himself  up  for  the  fight." 

"  What  fight  ?"  asked  Carson,  apprehen- 
sively. 

"I  mean  the  strike,"  explained  Jim. 

"Oh,"  said  Carson. 

They  came  to  the  store. 

Carson  unlocked  it  and  entered.  He 
struck  a  light  and  held  it  over  his  head. 
His  rugged  face  had  an  expression  of  satis- 
faction upon  it  which  made  it  good  to  look 
upon. 

He  poked  around,  scooping  up  cranber- 
ries and  sugar  ;  measuring  out  cochineal ; 
doing  up  eggs  and  pop-corn  ;  counting  out 
candles,  and  even  taking  out  of  the  show- 
case a  box  of  store-candy  from  Denver. 

Then,  burdened  with  all  these  breakable 
articles,  the  two  n\en  made  their  slow  way 
over  the  uneven  ground  back  to  Jim's 
cabin. 

184 


STRIKE   AT   THE  "  BILLY  BOWLEGS  " 

As  they  passed  Peters's  cabin  they  heard 
the  sound  of  sobs. 

They  crept  up  to  the  door  and  listened. 
The  thought  was  in  the  mind  of  each  that 
possibly  Peters  had  come  home  drunk,  and 
was  beating  his  wife.  The  thing  had  hap- 
pened before.  But  this  time  they  only 
heard  a  woman's  sobs  and  broken  prayers 
to  the  Virgin.  Her  wretchedness  over  her 
situation  seemed  complete  enough  without 
the  thought  of  Peters's  return,  who,  as  ring- 
leader in  the  strike,  was  at  the  bottom  of 
all  this  misery.  There  were  some  who 
declared  that  they  could  hold  out  six 
months. 

Carson  and  Jim  crept  away  from  the 
door,  and  reached  Jim's  cabin  in  silence. 

They  found  Scott  waiting  for  them  with 
a  Christmas  tree  which  exactly  met  Car- 
son's requirements. 

"That's  it!  That's  the  ticket!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "  I  couldn't  have  got  a  better  one 
if  I'd  gone  after  it  myself.  •  Say,  Jim,  isn't 
that  a  beauty  ?  Now  nail  these  here  things 
together,  Scott,  to  make  it  stand  up,  and 
just  trim  it  off  a  little  on  the  bottom  while 
185 


STRIKE   AT   THE  "BILLY   BOWLEGS " 

Jim  strings  the  cranberries  and  I  pop  the 
corn.  This  is  goin'  to  be  exactly  like — like 
one  I  made  a  long  time  ago." 

Jim  was  too  much  overcome  at  the  sight 
of  those  two  big  men  working  about  his  lit- 
tle cabin,  making  a  Christmas  tree  for  his 
boy,  to  begin  the  task  that  Carson  had  set 
for  him. 

He  sat  helplessly  watching  them.  The 
blows  of  Scott's  hammer  deafened  him,  and 
the  odor  of  Carson's  pop-corn  filled  the 
room. 

"  I  declare,  boys — "  he  began,  brokenly. 
Tears  gathered  in  his  eyes. 

"  Say,  Scott,"  broke  in  Carson,  nervous- 
ly," guess  who  is  at  home  with  her  chil- 
dren, cryin'  and  sayin'  prayers  to  the  Vir- 
gin instead  of  eggin'  the  other  women  on 
the  way  she  did  in  the  last  strike  ?" 

"  Not  Em  Peters  ?" 

"  The  same.  What's  got  into  her,  do  you 
s'pose  ?" 

"I  guess  she  got  enough  of  strikes  two 

years  ago,"  said  Jim,  "when 'she  and    her 

children  nearly  starved  to  death  before  the 

thing  was  settled.     She  was  the  worst  of  the 

186 


STRIKE   AT   THE  "BILLY   BOWLEGS " 

lot  that  time.  She  was  out -doors  day  and 
night,  egging  the  men  on  and  urging  the 
other  women  to  back  their  husbands  up. 
Peters  was  a  quiet  enough  sort  of  man  then. 
He  had  to  be  egged  on  all  the  time.  Now, 
I  guess,  she  sees  the  result  of  her  work.  It's 
Peters  that  started  this  strike.  But  he  is 
keeping  up  his  nerve  on  whiskey.  I  don't 
believe  his  sand  will  hold  out." 

"  Is  that  so  ?"  said  Scott,  pricking  up  his 
ears.  "  I  thought  he  was  a  good  deal  of  a 
devil." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  If  anybody  could  get 
on  the  right  side  of  Peters,  I  believe  he'd 
back  down,  and  the  rest  would  follow  like  a 
flock  of  sheep." 

"  You  don't  say  so." 

"  It's  too  bad  there  isn't  somebody  in 
camp  that's  got  the  gift  of  gab,  who  could 
talk  to  them.  I  wish  the  boss  knew  as 
much  of  the  men  as  I  do.  He'd  send  out 
somebody  who  could  handle  them  like  putty. 
But  they  think  he  will  show  fight,  and  they 
are  fixing  to  play  a  waiting  game.  They 
don't  believe  he  will  call  out  the  troops  the 
way  they  did  at  Leadville,  because  he  is  too 
187 


STRIKE   AT  THE  "BILLY    BOWLEGS " 

anxious  to  mine.  They  expect  to  stand  a 
siege." 

Carson  and  Scott  looked  at  each  other. 

"  Well,  what  if  he  does  order  out  the 
troops  ?"  said  Carson. 

"  Oh,  he  won't,"  rejoined  Jim.  "  At  least 
not  till  after  he's  talked  and  talked. 
They've  struck  before.  They  know  what 
to  expect.  He'll  have  to  give  in  sooner 
or  later.  They  are  not  afraid  of  being 
killed.  That's  always  the  last  thing,  you 
know.  They  will  have  plenty  of  time  to 
brace  up  for  that." 

"Well,  what  would  happen,"  said  Car- 
son, in  a  curious  tone,  watching  the  gen- 
tle expression  on  Jim's  girlish  face,  "  if  the 
boss  got  troops  ordered  out  the  first  thing 
and  didn't  give  them  any  time  to  think  or 
brace  each  other  up  or  to  talk?  Suppose  he 
just  fired  on  them.  What  then  ?" 

"Oh,  they'd  be  killed  —  lots  of  them," 
said  Jim,  quietly — "  lots  of  them,  that  were 
just  led  into  it  by  others.  Lots  of  the  com- 
paratively innocent.  These  men  can't  fight. 
They  can  only  throw  stones  and  shout. 
They  are  not  brave.  They  are  stubborn. 
188 


STRIKE   AT  THE  "BILLY   BOWLEGS" 

Oh,  yes,  they  would  be  killed,  but  —  there 
wouldn't  be  any  more  strikes." 

Jim's  gentle  voice  fell  with  an  ominous 
note  upon  the  ears  of  Scott  and  Carson,  with 
the  knowledge  of  the  suppressed  telegram 
in  their  minds. 

"  Too  bad  to  have  your  wife  come  just 
now,"  said  Scott,  to  change  the  subject, 
"  when  you  are  out  of  a  job." 

"  Oh,  I  am  all  right,"  said  Jim,  placidly, 
while  a  beaming  smile  broke  over  his  face. 
"  Carson,  here,  is  going  back  East  to  see  his 
folks,  and  he  is  going  to  give  me  his  job. 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  piece  of  good- 
luck  for  Mollie  and  the  baby?" 

Carson  waved  the  corn-popper  at  Scott 
over  Jim's  unconscious  head.  Scott  looked 
at  the  happy  light  on  Jim's  face  as  he  busied 
himself  with  his  homely  task,  and  then  at 
Carson's  huge  shoulders  and  shaggy  head. 
He  remembered  that  glimpse  of  his  heart 
Carson  had  given  him  but  a  few  hours  be- 
fore. He  thought  of  the  arrival  of  Jim's 
wife  and  boy.  He  thought  of  Emma  Peters 
weeping  alone  in  her  cabin,  and  of  the  tele- 
gram hanging  over  the  heads  of  them  all. 
189 


STRIKE  AT   THE  "BILLY   BOWLEGS " 

If  only  somebody  who  could  talk — some- 
body who  could  do  it  right — could  tell  those 
men  what  was  going  on  in  their  midst.  A 
sudden  thought  thrilled  him.  He  wondered 
if  he  could  do  it  ?  He  was  not  gifted  with 
speech,  but  was  speech  necessary  ? 

"  Say,  you  fellows,"  he  said,  getting  up 
and  stretching  himself,  "  you  will  have  to 
finish  this  blooming  thing  by  yourselves. 
When  it's  done,  I'll  come  and  look  at  it 
and  pat  you  on  the  heads  if  it  is  well  done. 
And,  Jim,  I'll  bring  a  present  to  hang  on  it 
for  Mollie  and  the  baby." 


Ill 


As  if  afraid  that  his  courage  might  waver, 
Scott  hurried  to  Pedro's,  where  he  knew  he 
should  find  Peters  and  most  of  the  others. 
Some  of  the  miners,  the  best  or  the  most 
timid,  were  at  home  with  their  wives.  The 
most  of  the  men  at  Pedro's  had  no  wives. 
Peters  was  an  exception. 

He  was  greeted  with  a  shout  as  he  en- 
tered. 

190 


STRIKE  AT  THE  "BILLY   BOWLEGS" 

"  Have  you  come  to  join  us  ?"  two  or 
three  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  said. 

"  Good !  Good  !"  they  said,  crowding 
around  him. 

"  In  a  drink,"  he  added,  with  a  grin. 

He  caught  them  just  right.  They  fell 
back  with  a  roar  at  his  joke  and  demanded 
to  hear  his  order. 

"  Lord  knows  I  need  it,"  he  said,  tossing 
it  down  and  ordering  another.  "  I've  just 
about  had  the  ghostly  jim-jams." 

He  fixed  his  eye  on  Peters  as  if  address- 
ing him,  and  Peters,  like  all  weak  nat- 
ures, yielded  to  his  influence  and  moved 
nearer. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"Why,  Carson  discovered  that  it  was 
Christmas  eve  a  little  while  ago,  and  what 
do  you  think  he  did  ?" 

"  Don't  know.     Tell  us." 

"  By  the  way,  did  you  know  it  was  Christ- 
mas eve  ?"  he  demanded  suddenly  of  the 
flushed  faces  thrust  closely  around  his. 

They  shrank  back  and  looked  down, 
nervously  picking  at  their  coat  -  sleeves. 
191 


STRIKE  AT  THE  "BILLY  BOWLEGS" 

Christmas  eve  !  The  words  brought  back 
memories  to  all  of  them. 

"  You  know,  Carson  is  a  big,  soft-hearted 
old  codger,  that  would  walk  two  miles  to 
keep  from  hurting  even  a  buzzard,  and  I 
guess  he  got  to  thinking  what  an  infernal 
Christmas  the  women  and  the  kids  in  this 
God-forsaken  camp  are  going  to  have  to- 
morrow. No  Christmas  trees,  no  toys,  no 
presents  of  any  kind —  Why,  blame  it  all,  it 
kind  o'  gets  me  to  think  that  /  ain't  going 
to  have  a  Christmas  present.  Not  one  per- 
son in  all  this  world  is  going  to  think  of  me 
to-morrow.  I  tell  you,  boys,  those  of  you 
who've  got  wives  here,  and  who've  got 
sweethearts  anywhere,  better  be  sorry  for 
poor  devils  like  us  who  haven't  got  even 
the  love  of  a  prairie-dog. 

"  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  Carson  came  over 
and  sort  of  opened  up  on  me  about  his 
Christmas  four  years  ago,  when  he  had  a 
wife  and  baby.  He  was  rigging  up  the 
bloomingest  kind  of  Christmas  tree  for  the 
kid,  all  hung  with  strings  of  cranberries  and 
pop-corn,  and  lighted  with  candles,  fit  to 
make  a'  child's  eyes  pop  out  of  his  head  to 
192 


STRIKE   AT   THE  "BILLY   BOWLEGS" 

see  it,  and  right  in  the  midst  of  it  the  little 
feller  took  sick  and  died." 

Scott  paused  and  searched  the  faces  of  the 
men.  They  were  listening  intently.  Not  one 
was  drinking. 

"  Didn't  know  Carson  was  married,"  said 
Peters. 

"  Neither  did  I.  Or,  at  least,  I'd  forgot- 
ten. But  when  he  mentioned  it,  I  remem- 
bered that  the  mine  was  named  after  his 
boy." 

"  The  Billy  Bovvlegs  !"  exclaimed  Fresno. 
"  It  was,  sure  enough.  Carson  and  his 
brother  discovered  it.  They  worked  it  for 
years,  and  the  week  after  they  sold  out  it 
began  to  pan  out  like  blazes.  If  Carson 
had  held  on  a  week  longer,  all  this  stuff 
would  'a'  been  his,  and  he'd  be  the  boss  we 
are  fighting." 

"  You'd  never  fight  Carson  when  you  hear 
the  rest,"  said  Scott,  shaking  his  head. 

"  Go  on,"  said  Peters. 

"  Well,  the  upshot  of  it  was  that  he  was 

down  on  his  luck  with  this  here  coming  of 

Jim's  wife  and  baby,  and  the  tough  luck  of 

her  coming  on  Christmas  Day  and  finding 

N  193 


STRIKE   AT   THE   "BILLY    BOWLEGS " 

the  strike  on,  and  the  camp  in  such  a  fix. 
Carson  takes  other  people's  troubles  to 
heart  as  if  they  was  his  own.  He  declared 
Jim  was  goin'  to  die,  and  wasn't  it  the  mean- 
est sort  of  lines  for  that  poor  little  woman 
to  have  saved  up  for  so  long,  and  for  Jim 
to  have  saved  up,  and  skimped,  and  not 
eaten  half  he  ought  to,  just  to  get  her  out 
here  quicker,  and  then  to  have  her  come  to 
this.  I  just  wish  you  could  'a'  heard  Car- 
son take  on.  You'd  'a'  thought  this  strike 
was  the  worst  thing  that  ever  struck  the 
world  since  the  flood.  You'd  'a'  thought 
Mollie  and  the  baby  were  his  own  wife  and 
boy  he  was  grievin'  after.  You'd  V  thought 
we  were  all  a  set  of  cannibals  or  heathens 
to  do  anything  towards  carryin'  this  fight  on 
while  that  poor  little  woman  was  comin'  all 
the  way  from  the  State  of  Maine,  headed 
straight  for  the  perdition  of  Cactus  Camp. 
I  declare  I  felt  as  though  there  was  blood 
on  my  hands.  Poor  Carson  !  Anybody  'd 
think  Jim's  wife  was  the  only  woman  to  be 
thought  of.  I  guess  you've  got  wives,  some 
of  you  fellows,  that  haven't  got  a  much 
pleasanter  Christmas  to  look  forward  to." 
194 


STRIKE   AT   THE  "BILLY   BOWLEGS" 

He  stopped  and  glanced  around.  The 
men  looked  down  in  confusion  and  kicked 
at  the  sanded  floor. 

"The  little  woman  is  pretty,"  said  Fresno, 
suddenly.  "  I  saw  her  yesterday.  She  was 
'most  wild  to  get  to  Jim.  And  the  boy — say, 
but  he's  a  hummer." 

"  Did  you  tell  her  about  the  strike  ?" 
asked  Peters,  anxiously. 

"  No,  I  didn't.  I  lied  handsome.  I  said 
Jim  was  well  and  the  camp  never  better. 
Poor  little  thing !  She'll  find  out  soon 
enough.  Mesquite  Dan  is  bringing  them 
in  his  wagon.  They'll  be  here  to-mor- 
row." 

A  dead  silence  fell.  None  of  the  bravado 
of  an  hour  ago  was  visible. 

Scott  saw  his  advantage  and  hurried  on. 

"Well,  sir,  after  a  while,  Carson  got  so 
worked  up  that  nothing  would  do  but  he 
must  rig  up  a  Christmas  tree  exactly  like 
the  one  he  was  making  four  years  ago  to- 
night for  his  own  little  feller,  and  have  it 
ready  to-morrow  for  Jim's.  He  sent  me 
after  dark  to  the  graveyard  to  cut  one  of 
those  baby  pines,  and  he  opened  up  the 


STRIKE   AT   THE   "BILLY    BOWLEGS" 

store  and  got  the  candles  and  stuff,  and  he's 
over  there  at  Jim's  now,  trimmin'  it !" 

"  Well,  I  swan  !"  said  Fresno. 

"  Let's  go  and  see  him,"  said  Scott.  "  We 
can  look  through  the  window." 

"  All  right,"  they  exclaimed. 

There  were  fourteen  of  them. 

"Jim  won't  live  six  months,"  said  Peters, 
sullenly. 

"Oh,  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  Carson  is 
going  back  East  '  to  see  his  folks,'  he  says, 
but  he  has  given  Jim  his  job." 

A  chorus  of  exclamations  greeted  this  an- 
nouncement. Those  men  were  quicker  to 
recognize  and  appreciate  a  fine  deed  than 
their  more  civilized  brothers.  Smiles  played 
over  their  countenances.  Gentler  expres- 
sions came  into  their  eyes.  Carson  was  a 
hero  among  them.  If  he  had  been  there 
they  would  have  given  him  three  cheers. 

"Jim  '11  get  well  now  that  he's  put  of  the 
mine,"  said  Fresno. 

Scott  purposely  took  them  by  Peters's 
cabin. 

"  Hold  on.  What's  that  ?"  asked  Fresno 
as  they  came  near. 

196 


STRIKE   AT  THE  "BILLY   BOWLEGS " 

"  Oh,  it's  only  one  of  the  women  takin' 
on  over  the  strike,"  said  Scott,  carelessly. 

When  they  reached  Jim's  cabin,  they 
stealthily  crept  up  and  peered  in  at  the 
window  one  at  a  time,  then  fell  back  into 
the  shadow.  Scott  cautioned  them  to  be 
quiet  or  they  would  get  caught. 

Peters  was  the  last.  As  he  fell  back,  he 
drew  the  back  of  his  hand  across  his  eyes, 
and  blew  his  nose  tempestuously. 

"  Stop  that,  you  old  fool,"  said  Fresno, 
savagely,  treading  on  his  foot. 

"I've  got  a  cold,"  explained  Peters,  in  a 
hoarse  whisper. 

"Well,  take  it  out  and  lose  it,"  com- 
manded Fresno.  "  We  don't  want  to  get 
caught  in  this.  But  say,  boys,  wasn't  it 
pretty?  It  looked  just  like  the  one  my 
mother  made  for  me  once  when  I  was  a 
little  chap." 

"  I  remember  I  had  one,  too,"  said  Peters. 
"  My  kids  never  saw  such  a  tree." 

"  Why  don't  you  make  'em  one  ?"  asked 
Scott. 

"  With  this  strike  on  ?"  demanded  Peters. 
And  as  they  again  neared  his  cabin  he  add- 
197 


STRIKE  AT   THE  "BILLY  BOWLEGS " 

ed,  "  Does  that  sound  much  like  Christmas 
to  hear  Em  goin'  on  like  that  ?" 

"  Oh,  let's  give  up  the  blamed  thing," 
said  Fresno.  "  What's  the  use  of  letting 
Jim's  wife  be  the  only  happy  woman  in 
camp  to-morrow.  Go  on  in,  Peters,  and  tell 
Em  to  dry  up,  and  let's  all  have  a  Christ- 
mas !" 

Scott  held  his  breath. 

Fetors  hesitated,  then  turned  in  at  his 
doorway. 

"Hooray  !"  cried  Scott.  "  Come  on,  boys. 
I'll  open  up  the  office  and  telegraph  the 
boss  that  the  deal  is  off.  You'll  all  get 
more  out  of  it  in  the  end." 

Carson  and  Jim  heard  the  noise  and  came 
out,  running.  They  heard  the  news,  and  they, 
too,  joined  the  shouting.  And  it  was  not 
long  until  the  whole  camp-  was  out  in  vari- 
ous stages  of  undress  to  join  the  others  in 
shouting  as  loudly  because  the  strike  was 
off  as  yesterday  they  had  shouted  because  it 
was  on.  They  were  indeed  like  sheep. 

Scott  lighted  up  the  telegraph-office  and 
wired  the  message  to   Boston  before  they 
had  time  to  reconsider. 
I98 


STRIKE   AT   THE   "BILLY   BOWLEGS " 

Carson  was  called  on  to  unlock  the  store 
for  the  second  time  that  night  for  Christmas- 
tree  supplies.  The  women  stood  around 
with  shawls  over  their  heads,  unable  to 
comprehend  the  sudden  and  wonderful 
change.  Christmas  !  It  meant  nothing  to 
them. 

"  Just  wait,"  the  men  said. 

Mysterious  noises  and  lights  kept  the 
camp  uneasy  aH  the  rest  of  the  night. 
Hard  faces  relaxed  and  grew  tender  over, 
the  sweet  old  -  fashioned  thoughts  which 
came  thronging  in  with  memories  of  long- 
forgotten  childhoods. 

When  Christmas  morning  dawned  in  Cac- 
tus Camp,  and  Mollie  and  the  baby  came, 
they  were  met  by  Jim  and  Carson  and  Scott, 
and  taken  post-haste  to  see  the  tree. 

Carson  slapped  his  leg  every  time  he 
thought  of  it.  The  boy  wouldn't  even  leave 
the  tree  long  enough  to  eat  his  dinner. 
Carson  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  just 
"  how  a  little  feller's  eyes  would  shine  at 
the  sight  of  that  tree." 

By  night  there  was  not  a  tree  left  in  the 
graveyard. 

199 


A   WOMAN   OF  NO  NERVES 


A   WOMAN   OF  NO  NERVES 


AUNT  ANN  lived  in  Deerfield,  Massachu- 
setts, and  after  I  had  seen  her  I  knew  that  she 
could  have  come  from  nowhere  else.  There 
was  something  about  her  which  suggested 
Deerfield.  Her  appearance  indicated  long, 
slow  streets,  noble,  dignified  trees,  and  green 
meadows  full  of  a  benevolent  content.  She 
could  not  have  come  from  Poughkeepsie 
or  Hackensack  or  Yonkers.  These  names 
were  not  in  keeping  with  Aunt  Ann,  who 
was  mild-eyed,  capacious,  contemplative. 

Aunt  Ann  was  unmarried,  and  must  have 
been  about  thirty-eight.  She  still  possessed 
the  delicate  bloom  on  her  plump  cheeks 
with  which  New  England  loves  to  bless  her 
daughters.  Of  ample  but  not  unsightly  pro- 
portions was  Aunt  Ann,  with  the  gentle,  di- 
rect gaze  of  an  Alderney  cow  —  a  cow  in  a 
203 


A   WOMAN   OF   NO   NERVES 

clover  pasture,  imbued  with  the  meditative 
atmosphere  of  Deerfield,  Massachusetts. 

She  was  almost  beautiful,  and  there  was 
a  Sabbath  calm  in  her  presence  which  led 
one's  thoughts,  perhaps,  not  quite  to  religion, 
but  at  least  as  far  as  ethics. 

The  first  time  I  saw  her  she  entered  the 
room  where  I  had  been  ill,  and  simply  looked 
at  me  out  of  the  dimness — a  steady,  steady- 
ing look  which  got  me  my  bearings  and 
gave  me  something  tangible  to  hold  on  to. 
She  had  a  bovine  effect  upon  me  which  was 
most  agreeable.  Then  she  went  away  with- 
out whispering  to  mamma  to  tease  my  curi- 
osity, and  when  she  spoke  she  spoke  aloud. 
I  heard  her  laugh  in  the  next  room,  a  deep- 
throated,  comfortable  laugh,  with  a  note  of 
contagion  in  it,  causing  a  shadow  of  a  smile 
to  pass  over  my  own  face. 

For  days  I  did  not  see  her  again,  but  I 
heard  her  step  in  the  hall,  slow,  measured. 
I  knew  that  her  shoes  were  comfortable 
from  their  almost  inaudible  creak,  as  if  her 
whole  weight  rested  easily  upon  each  sole 
as  she  walked. 

I  had  so  dreaded  the  advent  of  this  maid- 
204 


A  WOMAN   OF   NO    NERVES 

en  aunt  from  New  England  that  I  was  agree- 
ably surprised  thus  to  learn  to  like  her 
through  closed  doors.  I  found  myself  long- 
ing for  the  calm  personality  which  I  sup- 
posed must  accompany  these  symptoms  of 
pleasantness.  When  she  came,  her  gentle 
touch  quieted  me.  Her  even,  steady  tones 
were  inexpressibly  soothing.  I  liked  to  feel 
her  smooth  the  pillows. 

But  as  I  grew  slowly  better  I  discovered 
that  there  was  a  board  in  the  floor  which 
suddenly  developed  an  exasperating  squeak, 
a  reluctant,  long-drawn  sound  which  nearly 
drove  me  wild.  Aunt  Ann  never  failed  to 
step  on  that  particular  board.  I  found  my- 
self, from  the  moment  of  her  entrance,  dread- 
ing to  have  her  reach,  tread  upon,  and  re- 
lease that  complaining  bit  of  the  floor.  In 
vain  I  reminded  her  in  advance.  She  for- 
got, and  never  seemed  to  hear  it.  She  could 
rock  on  it  for  an  hour  with  no  hint  from  her 
own  sleeping  nerves  that  she  was  driving 
the  more  sensitive  frantic.  And  then,  to 
my  despair,  for  I  honestly  loved  her,  I  dis- 
covered that  Aunt  Ann  never  could  sit  very 
long  without  jingling  two  of  her  rings  to- 
205 


A   WOMAN   OF   NO    NERVES 

gether  or  fingering  her  bunch  of  keys  or 
tapping  her  thimble  on  wood.  When  she 
was  a  child  I  suppose  she  wrote  with  a  slate- 
pencil  which  —  but  why  refer  to  a  sound 
more  horrible  in  my  ears  than  the  wail  of  a 
lost  soul  ? 

She  came  in  one  morning  to  sit  with  me, 
with  a  roll  of  white  cotton  cloth  in  her 
hand,  which  she  quietly  unfolded  and  be- 
gan to  tear  into  long,  narrow  strips.  With 
an  angry,  snarling  rasp  the  threads  yielded, 
and  Aunt  Ann,  with  her  plump  arms  sepa- 
rated to  their  fullest  extent,  complacently 
tore  and  tore  and  tore  that  awful  cloth  un- 
til, in  my  weak  state,  I  burst  into  a  flood  of 
childish  tears. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  dear  ?"  asked  Aunt 
Ann,  dropping  her  work  and  coming  towards 
me.  She  stopped  and  looked  back. 

"  Was  I  rocking  on  that  board  ?" 

I  shook  my  head  and  began  to  laugh  hys- 
terically. It  was  so  absurd  of  her  not  to 
hear  those  dreadful  sounds. 

"  It  was — it  was  the  cloth,"  I  managed  to 
say.     "  It  makes  me  shiver  so.     How  can 
you  stand  it  yourself  ?" 
206 


A   WOiMAN   OF   NO   NERVES 

"  Such  trifles  never  disturb  me,"  she  an- 
swered, helplessly,  "  and  I  can't  tell  when 
you  are  nervous." 

"  But  I  am  always  nervous.  It  is  not  be- 
cause I  have  been  ill." 

"  It  is  such  people  as  you  who  are  always 
having  nervous  prostration,"  she  answered. 
"  You  burn  up  with  inward  fires.  It  is  very 
bad  for  you.  I  never  was  ill  in  my  life." 

She  was  on  her  knees  beside  me,  smooth- 
ing my  hair  and  holding  both  my  thin  hands 
in  one  warm,  steady  palm. 

"  You  are  very  good  to  me,"  I  murmured, 
gratefully. 

"  You  remind  me  of  some  one,"  she  said, 
with  a  far-away  note  in  her  voice  as  of  one 
who  recalls  something  out  of  a  tender  past. 
For  reply  I  only  pressed  her  hand  feebly. 
A  strange,  fluttering  look  swept  the  placid- 
ity from  her  face.  "  You  are  so  like  him  !" 
she  whispered,  suddenly,  with  the  subdued 
excitement  of  those  who  never  yield  their 
self-control  except  when  it  is  wrested  from 
them  by  a  force  from  within. 

We  had  been  strangely  drawn  together 
from  the  first,  Aunt  Ann  and  I,  for,  not- 
207 


A   WOMAN   OF   NO   NERVES 

withstanding  our  wide  difference  in  temper- 
ament, there  was  a  keen  bond  of  sympathy 
between  us,  so  I  was  not  greatly  surprised 
that  she  should  speak  to  me  of  the  lover  of 
her  youth,  whose  existence  we  sometimes 
had  doubted  and  whose  name  we  never  had 
known. 

"  When  he  was  ill  at  our  house,"  she  pro- 
ceeded, with  a  pathetic  idea  that  I  knew  of 
whom  she  would  speak,  because  he  had 
been  so  great  a  factor  in  her  life,  "  so  long 
ago,  we  were  talking  one  morning  while  I 
was  working  on  my  china  -  painting,  when 
something — I  never  knew  what,  grown  man 
that  he  was — made  him  burst  out  crying  like 
a  child.  He  was  so  weak,  dear,  and  had 
been  so  very  ill." 

A  note  of  apology  for  her  lover's  lack  of 
strength  crept  into  Aunt  Ann's  voice. 

"  Of  course ;  I  know.  When  one  has 
been  ill — "  I  said. 

She  stroked  my  hand  gratefully. 

"  I  was  young  then,  and  it  frightened  — 

choked  me.     I  ran  to  him  and  dropped  the 

plate  I  had  been  burnishing.    I  have  it  yet, 

broken  in  two  pieces.     I  knelt  down  by  the 

208 


A   WOMAN   OF   NO   NERVES 

couch  and  he  took  my  hand,  just  as  you  did, 
and  he  pressed  it  with  his  poor,  weak  fingers, 
just  as  you  did.  Oh !  you  are  so  like  him  ! 
But  the  pressure  meant  only  gratitude  for 
my  kindness.  He  had  been  ill  and  helpless 
so  long,  and  I  had  tried  to  amuse  him  and 
occupy  his  mind.  He  was  all  fire  and  nerves 
and  cleverness.  I  had  been  of  much  use  to 
him.  I  seemed  so  strong  and  well  beside 
him.  His  weakness  went  to  my  heart. 
Women's  hearts  are  weak,  I  think,  dear. 
But  he  was  only  grateful,  while  I  —  it  was 
more  with  me,"  she  said,  quietly.  "  He  used 
to  say  that  I  soothed  him,  that  it  rested  him 
to  look  at  me.  He  said  I  would  be  just 
like  my  mother  at  her  age.  He  used  to  call 
her  his" benediction. 

"  But  I  had  given  him  so  much  out  of  my 
simple  life.  I  did  not  know  that  he  was 
giving  me  only  gratitude.  Such  an  awful 
sensation  came  over  me  when  I  realized  it! 
He  had  been  talking  of  a  woman  to  under- 
stand him,  the  kind  he  needed,  and  I  thought 
he  meant  me.  But  he  was  thinking  of  some 
one  else.  All  at  once  I  felt  it,  felt  that  he 
could  love,  did  love  —  somebody,  and  —  I 
o  209 


A   WOMAN   OF   NO  NERVES 

never  have  felt  anything  since.  I  put  all 
thought  of  him  away  from  me  then,  and  on 
the  surface  everything  went  on  as  usual. 
But  there  was  a  difference.  Sometimes  I 
think  he  saw  the  change  in  me  and  won- 
dered, for  I  remember  how,  whenever  I 
looked  at  him,  I  always  met  his  eyes.  Then 
he  went  away.  I  never  saw  him  afterwards. 
We  heard  from  him,  of  course,  for  he  was  so 
grateful.  He  had  come  with  letters  to  us 
from  a  dear  friend,  and  had  been  taken  ill  at 
our  house,  and,  as  was  only  natural,  mother 
cared  for  him  through  it  all.  He  loved  my 
mother  so  beautifully. 

"  His  letters  were  very  sad  sometimes,  so 
I  used  to  think  that  his  love  for  this  other 
woman  was  not  a  happy  one.  He  mentioned 
me,  too,  kindly,  almost  tenderly,  but  I  never 
allowed  myself  to  think  of — what  might  have 
been.  That  is  all.  It  is  little  enough,  isn't  it? 
So  very  little  to  last  one's  heart  a  lifetime  ?" 

"  Dear  Aunt  Ann,"  I  said,  remorsefully, 
"  I'm  so  sorry  I  was  silly  enough  to  cry,  and 
remind  you,  and  bring  it  all  back.  Please 
to  rock  on  that  squeaky  board  and  tear 
some  more  cloth.  I — I  like  it !" 


A   WOMAN   OF   NO   NERVES 

Aunt  Ann  laughed  comfortably.  Hers 
must  be  a  wholesome,  healthful  nature  to  be 
able  to  laugh  like  that. 

"It  has  done  me  good  to  speak  of  it.  I 
have  been  tempted  to  tell  you  ever  since  I 
came.  You  are  so  like  him." 

She  left  me  and  sat  down  again,  careful- 
ly avoiding  that  board  with  a  deprecating 
glance  at  me  that  made  us  both  smile. 

And  she  never  knew  that  after  she  had 
rolled  up  the  objectionable  cloth  she  sat 
tapping  the  arm  of  the  chair  with  her  thim- 
ble for  twenty-three  minutes. 

When  I  became  well  enough  to  come 
down  to  the  library,  and  Aunt  Ann  was  still 
with  us,  a  friend  of  mine,  the  night  editor  of 
The  Sun- Dispatch,  dropped  in  to  see  me. 
The  day  was  raw  and  cheerless,  and  he 
begged  me  for  a  cup  of  tea. 

"  You  poor  little  thing,"  he  said,  as  I 
busied  myself  with  the  cups.  "  You  look 
as  if  the  draught  through  a  keyhole  would 
blow  you  away." 

He  was  a  bundle  of  nerves  himself,  with 
a  thin,  eager  face,  iron -gray  hair  brushed 
back  from  sunken  temples,  and  a  smoulder- 


A  WOMAN   OF   NO    NERVES 

ing  fire  in  his  eyes  which  told  how  his 
strength  went.  When  he  sat  down  he  had 
an  alarming  way  of  sinking  into  his  clothes 
as  if  some  day  he  might  disappear  from 
sight  altogether.  I  always  was  agreeably 
surprised  when  he  emerged. 

He  stretched  a  shaking  hand  out  to  take 
his  tea,  and  laughed  apologetically. 

"  It  might  be  the  result  of  cigarettes  or 
intoxicating  liquors  or  opium,"  he  said,  in 
gay  self-derision.  "  What  a  pity  it  is  so 
respectable  a  thing  as  lack  of  sleep." 

I  reached  for  the  tongs  to  stir  the  fire, 
and,  setting  them  down  carelessly,  they  fell 
with  a  frightful  clatter  on  the  marble  hearth. 

He  gave  an  expression  of  exasperated  im- 
patience. 

"  How  cross  you  are !"  I  cried.  Then 
perhaps  the  shock  to  my  own  nerves,  com- 
bined with  the  look  of  physical  pain  between 
his  drawn  brows,  gave  me  an  excuse  to  be 
absurd,  and  tears  started  to  my  eyes. 

"  If  you  cry,"  he  said,  setting  down  his 

cup  with  much   deliberation,   "  I  shall  go 

home  and  shoot  myself,  and  I  shall  keep 

on  shooting  myself  until  I  am  stone  dead. 

212 


A   WOMAN   OF   NO   NERVES 

There  !  That's  right — laugh.  I  deserve  the 
shock  to  iny  vanity  which  it  gives  me  to  see 
you  laugh  in  pure  delight  at  the  idea  of  my 
demise." 

"  You  do,  indeed,  deserve  it.  I  never  knew 
before  that  you  were  ill-tempered." 

"  Heaven  forefend  !"  he  exclaimed,  bring- 
ing his  head  out  of  collar  to  be  more  im- 
pressive. "  Never,  with  your  fine  sense  of 
discrimination,  make  the  mistake  of  con- 
founding ill-temper  with  raw  nerves.  One 
is  an  infirmity ;  the  other  an  ailment." 

"  The  result  is  the  same,  and  both  can  be 
cured,"  I  answered,  emphatically. 

He  dropped  back  into  his  chair  with  a 
sigh. 

"  I  wish  I  believed  that,  and,  if  true,  I  wish 
I  had  known  it  twenty  years  ago." 

"Why,  would  you  have  established  a  sana- 
torium ?'' 

He  smiled. 

"  I  would.  A  permanent  one,  for  my  own 
exclusive  cure,  and  with  only  one  woman 
needed  for  the  entire  staff  of  physicians." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  gave  up  the  only  woman  I  ever  loved 
213 


A   WOMAN    OF   NO    NERVES 

because  she  was  born  without  a  single  nerve, 
and  because  she  never  knew  when  she  was 
driving  me  to  distraction.  I  had  the  cour- 
age then  to  do  it.  Life  was  all  before  me, 
and  I  did  not  know  then  that  love  comes 
but  once.  I  did  not  know  how  little  real 
love  there  is  in  the  world.  Oh,  if  men  only 
knew,  they  would  be  kinder  to  it  when  love- 
does  come  !  Nor  did  I  know  how  much  I 
myself  cared.  Without  vulgarly  formulating 
the  thought,  I  had  the  vague  hope  that  I 
would  find  another  as  sweet  and  pure  and 
true,  who  could  comprehend  that  side  of  me 
which  she  did  not.  But  I  never  have  found 
her.  And  now  when  I  look  back  I  do  not 
call  my  folly  courage.  It  was  stupid  igno- 
rance and  selfishness,  and  I  have  been  just- 
ly and  even  generously  punished." 

I  was  interested  at  once. 

"  How  did  she  fret  you  ?  What  made  her, 
if  she  cared  for  you?"  I  questioned,  with 
hypocritical  obtuseness,  for  my  heart  was 
wildly  beating  with  the  hope  that  it  might 
have  been  Aunt  Ann.  Absurd,  impossible, 
ridiculous  of  me,  but  what  if — what  if — 

"  She  did  not  care  for  me.  Perhaps  in 
214 


A  WOMAN   OF   NO   NERVES 

time  she  might  have  done  so,  but  she  never 
knew.  Fortunately,  I  was  the  only  one  who 
suffered.  The  dear  little  woman  !" 

"Tell  about  it." 

"  What  a  delightful  creature  you  are  1 
What  a  gift  to  be  so  interested  in  people !" 
he  exclaimed,  coming  into  view  again  to  put 
down  his  empty  cup. 

"  Well,  it  was  years  ago.  I  often  wonder 
if  she  ever  married.  I  wonder  what  kind 
of  a  fellow  she  married.  I  hope  he  is  good 
to  her.  I  should  like  to  kill  him  if  he  isn't. 
Years  ago  —  but  that  makes  no  difference. 
I  know  just  how  she  looks  if  she  is  alive  to- 
day. She  looks  as  her  mother  did  then,  and 
that  would  satisfy  any  man  in  his  senses.  If 
men  chose  their  wives  oftener  with  regard 
to  the  mothers'  looks  and  characters,  there 
might  be  more  marriages  which  retain  their 
flavor.  Ann's  mother  was  the  most  restful 
picture  your  mind's  eye  can  conceive,  with 
a  sweet,  wholesome,  clean  nature — a  fresh- 
ness, a  dewiness  about  her  which  seemed 
continually  to  murmur  of  '  Green  fields ! 
Green  fields!' 

"  I  went  to  these  dear  people  for  rest  af- 


A   WOMAN   OF   NO    NERVES 

ter  an  exhaustive  political  campaign,  and 
1  never  received  more  gracious  hospitality 
or  met  with  kindness  tempered  with  such 
simple  dignity.  I  repaid  their  courtesy  by 
pitching  headlong  to  the  floor  in  a  faint, 
which  was  the  beginning  of  a  tedious  illness. 
I  begged,  I  implored  to  be  removed,  but  the 
stranger  within  their  gates  was  to  them  a 
brother  to  whom  they  established  them- 
selves keeper.  I  never  shall  forget  their 
kindness — never.  Even  when  I  was  quite 
well,  and  wished  to  relieve  them  of  an  in- 
valid presence,  they  would  not  permit  it,  and 
they  allowed  me  to  convalesce  at  my  leisure, 
lying  about  the  house  on  convenient  couch- 
es, and  being  coddled  in  the  most  delight- 
ful way. 

"  It  sounds  perfect,  doesn't  it  ?  You 
would  think  that  the  presence,  the  occa- 
sional presence,  of  a  lovely  girl  —  for  their 
dignity  was  of  so  perfect  a  type  that  Ann's 
was  only  a  rare  and  dearly  prized  advent — 
would  lend  an  intoxication  to  invalidism. 
She  was  like  a  June  rose,  and  I  know  now 
that  I  loved  her. 

"  Sometimes  I  would  feel  myself  almost 
216 


A   WOMAN   OF    NO   NERVES 

carried  away,  and  that  I  must  tell  her  about 
it,  but  one  thing  prevented  me.  Do  you 
know  that  if  she  were  in  your  place  this 
moment  she  could  hear  that  ice -wagon 
driving  down  this  paved  street  at  a  gallop 
and  not  even  look  up  ?  She  could  hear  coal 
put  into  the  furnace  all  day  long  and  not 
shriek.  If  I  ever  commit  suicide  you  will 
find  that  both  the  ice-box  and  the  furnace 
are  full.  In  fact,  you  needn't  even  look. 
You  will  know ! 

"  Ann  never  worked  as  other  girls  did. 
She  used  to  bring  her  work  into  the  room, 
and  there  would  always  be  some  irritating, 
maddening  noise  about  it.  Tell  me,  do  girls 
nowadays  squeak  and  scrape  things  with- 
out setting  their  own  teeth  on  edge,  like  the 
thought  of  lemon-juice  ?" 

"  No.  American  girls  of  to  -  day  are 
all  abundantly  supplied  with  nerve  gan- 
glia." 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it.  It  is  what 
makes  them  so  keenly  sensitive,  so  adapta- 
ble, so  irresistibly  sympathetic." 

"  In  behalf  of    American  girls,"  I   said, 
bowing,  with  my  hand  on  my  heart. 
217 


A   WOMAN   OF   NO   NERVES 

"  Well,  to  proceed.  I  was  a  careless  fel- 
low then,  without  realizing  it,  and  I  must 
have  given  their  orderly  natures  a  deal  of 
unnecessary  disturbance.  Many  shiftings 
have  come  with  the  years,  and  I  am  so  im- 
possibly neat  now  in  these  my  old  bachelor 
days  that  I  wish  with  grim  amusement  that 
Ann  could  see  a  change  of  which  she  would 
so  heartily  approve. 

1 "  I  used  to  go  through  a  pile  of  news- 
papers and  throw  them  in  a  heap  on  the 
floor.  Then,  when  Ann  came,  I  would  be- 
gin a  discourse  on  some  subject  in  which 
we  were  both  interested  and  which  required 
all  my  nervous  strength  to  talk  about,  and 
as  she  listened  she  would  smooth  every 
crease  from  those  beastly  papers,  and  fold 
them,  oh,  so  neatly !  Now  you  will  think 
me  a  brute  when  I  tell  you  that  not  even  the 
added  flush  which  came  into  her  delicate 
face  from  stooping,  or  the  beauty  of  her 
white  hands,  caused  me  for  one  moment  to 
forget  the  exasperating  noise  of  those  de- 
testable papers.  It  almost  distracted  me. 
The  squeak  of  a  chair  or  the  rattling  of  a 
chandelier  or  the  jingling  of  ill -balanced 
218 


A  WOMAN    OF   NO   NERVES 

china  on  the  sideboard  never  disturbed 
either  of  those  two  women. 

"  One  day  I  begged  her  to  come  and  talk 
to  me,  and  she  came  with  her  work.  She 
had  on  a  blue  gown  made  of  some  thin  stuff 
— is  it  muslin  or  lawn  that  you  wear  in  the 
morning?  —  oh,  well,  dimity  then  ;  with  the 
ruffles  edged  with  lace.  I  see  you  smile  at 
my  awkward  attempt  to  usurp  the  preroga- 
tive of  the  fashion  editor,  but  a  man  who 
never  notices  ladies'  dress  may  sometimes 
keenly  remember  the  simple  frock  which  his 
sweetheart  once  wore,  and  in  his  memory 
she  always  wears  it  and  always  looks  the 
same. 

"  I  saw  that  she  had  a  plate  in  her  hand, 
for  she  did  china-painting,  and  in  my  eyes 
did  it  very  daintily.  You  will  call  me  sen- 
timental if  I  tell  you  that  on  this  one  she 
had  painted  little  wreaths  of  forget-me- 
nots  tied  with  pink  ribbons.  Forget-me- 
nots  and  pink  ribbons  !  Doesn't  it  conjure 
the  whole  scene  and  particularly  the  nature, 
the  soul  of  the  girl  ?  Would  any  one  but 
Ann  have  painted  out  the  bare  whiteness  of 
the  plate  with  so  idyllic  a  theme  ?  Dear 
219 


A    WOMAN   OF   NO   NERVES 

heart !  dear  heart !  I  had  almost  made  up 
my  mind  to  speak.  We  were  talking  imper- 
sonally of  the  need  of  a  certain  man  for 
a  certain  woman,  and  each  secretly,  as  I 
thought,  adapting  the  abstract  phrases  to 
our  concrete  senses,  when  suddenly  she  took 
up  an  emery  pencil  and  began  to  burnish 
the  gold  rim  of  the  plate.  Did  you  ever 
hear  the  sound  ?  Get  me  a  grindstone 
and  any  little  knife  you  want  sharpened, 
and  I  will  form  an  accompaniment  to  this 
conversation  such  as  followed  the  only  at- 
tempt I  ever  made  to  make  love  to  a  girl." 

There  was  an  undercurrent  of  bitterness 
to  his  half -bantering  account  which  con- 
vinced me  of  his  sincere  feeling.  Occasion- 
ally he  lapsed  from  his  effort  at  self-detach- 
ment, and  swerved  to  either  extreme.  When 
a  man  is  really  indifferent  he  keeps  his  self- 
control  without  effort. 

He  leaned  forward  with  his  elbows  on  his 
knees,  sinking  again  almost  out  of  sight 
with  his  face  between  his  hands. 

"  Ye  gods !"  he  shivered,  "  I  can  hear  it 
now,  rasping  and  scraping  the  feeling  from 
my  heart,  and  leaving  a  scar  which  is  there 

220 


A  WOMAN   OF   NO    NERVES 

yet.  If  it  had  been  any  other  woman  in 
the  world  I  might  have  thought  she  suspect- 
ed what  I  was  going  to  say,  and  mechani- 
cally seized  upon  the  only  thing  at  hand  to 
conceal  her  agitation.  But  not  Ann.  She 
was  not  only  without  suspicion  of  my  feel- 
ing, but  without  any  response  to  it.  For 
when  out  of  sheer  weakness  and  distraction 
and  uncontrol  I  gave  way  and  burst  into  a 
flood  of  nervous  tears,  like  an  hysterical  girl, 
Ann  made  the  only  hurried  movement  I  ever 
saw  in  her.  She  ran  to  me,  dropping  her 
precious  plate  and  breaking  it  right  through 
a  little  forget-me-not  wreath.  She  knelt 
down  beside  me  and  took  one  of  my  hot 
hands  between  both  her  cool,  pink  palms. 
I  looked  at  her  in  amazement,  undeniably 
wishing  that  it  might  mean  more  than  mere 
womanly  compassion,  sweet  though  it  was. 
But  her  eyes  met  mine  without  swerving — a 
friendly,  steadying  gaze  which  brought  me 
to  my  senses  like  a  dash  of  cold  water. 

"  Neither  said  anything  I  can  remember. 
Broken  apologetic  nothings,  perhaps.  She 
went  back  to  her  chair.  I  watched  her  pick 
up  the  pieces  of  the  plate,  to  see  if  I  could 

221 


A  WOMAN   OF   NO   NERVES 

detect  any  sign  of  her  recognition  of  the 
sentiment  contained  in  the  broken  wreath 
of  forget-me-nots.  I  wanted  to  beg  her  to 
give  it  to  me,  but  I  had  a  horrible  fear  that 
she  would  think  me  a  fool.  Youth  is  more 
afraid  of  the  imputation  of  sentimentality 
than  middle  age,  you  see. 

"But  no,  I  think  Ann  regretted  her  spoiled 
work,  although  she  was  gravely  sweet  about 
assuring  me  that  she  did  not  mind.  Ah, 
well! 

"  I  wrote  to  them  until  Ann's  mother 
died,  then  I  wrote  to  her  once  or  twice,  but 
she  never  answered  my  letters.  I  have  of- 
ten thought  of  going  back  to  Deerfield  and 
looking  her  up.  But  I  am  afraid  that  the 
old  fire  is  not  yet  burned  out,  and  that  if  I 
saw  her  happily  married,  with  her  little  chil- 
dren about  her  looking  like  smaller  pink- 
and-cream  editions  of  their  pretty  mother, 
or  unhappily  married,  I  should  want  to  kill 
somebody — most  likely  myself." 

"  You  two  would  never  have  been  happy 
together,"'  I  said,  with  a  secret  sweep  of  joy 
that  nothing  pertaining  to  myself  ever  had 
given  me. 

222 


A   WOMAN   OF  NO   NERVES 

"  Traitor !"  he  cried,  raising  his  head  and 
showing  me  eyes  softened  with  emotion. 
"  You  said  nerves  could  be  lived  down. 
How  dare  you  destroy  an  air-castle  called 
'  Might-have-been  '  with  which  I  may  solace 
my  sleepless  hours  ?  If  she  only  had  cared  ! 
Happy?  I  tell  you  we  would  have  been 
happy.,  Dear  Ann!  She  might  have  been 
satisfied  wrth  me.  She  was  not  exacting 
nor  difficult  to  please." 

"Absurd!"  I  said,  with  a  feigned  heat 
which  I  was  sadly  afraid  his  keenness  would 
discover,  because  it  was  so  badly  done. 
"  Imagine  her  here  in  my  place,  you  and 
her  married.  Come,  draw  your  chair  near- 
er ;  don't  you  love  to  put  your  feet  on  the 
fender?  Now  look  into  the  fire  and  pre- 
tend that  the  woman  in  this  chair  is  Ann — 
not  any  other  man's  wife,  but  yours.  Now. 
You  are  nervous  and  tired.  Hear  this  chair 
squeak?  Isn't  this  the  way  she  would  do 
it  ?  You  would  stand  it  about  five  minutes, 
then  you  would  leap  to  your  feet  with  an  ir- 
ritated exclamation,  and  perhaps  rush  from 
the  house.  Do  you  hear  this  ?  Isn't  this 
a  jolly  squeak  ?" 

223 


A  WOMAN   OF   NO   NERVES 

"  How  more  than  unkind  —  how  cruel, 
even,  a  sweet  woman  can  be !"  he  said,  slow- 
ly turning  upon  me  a  look  full  of  reproach. 
He  had  followed  my  thoughts  childishly, 
and  let  himself  drift  into  a  dream  of  Ann  as 
his  wife  with  the  delicious  abandon  with 
which  a  tired  body  sinks  into  an  easy-chair. 
"  I  expected  you  to  laugh,  but  I  did  not 
think  you  would  mock." 

"  Because  I  do  not  think  you  are  in  ear- 
nest in  your  reform,"  I  said.  "  Would  you  be 
gentle  and  patient  with  her,  and  say,  '  Dear 
Ann,  please  don't,'  instead  of  glaring  at  her 
as  you  did  at  me  ?" 

His  face  twitched  as  he  tried  to  smile. 

"  I  must  be  going,"  he  said,  standing  up 
and  buttoning  his  coat  across  his  thin  form 
with  pathetic  dignity. 

A  sudden  daring  resolve  combated  my 
fear  of  intruding  and  ruining  myself  forever 
both  in  his  eyes  and  Aunt  Ann's. 

"It  is  pouring  rain.  Will  you  do  me  a 
favor  ?  Heap  coals  of  fire  on  my  head,  for 
I  have  been  brutally  unkind.  Stay  to  din- 
ner and  help  me  entertain  a  difficult,  almost 
impossible,  guest.  I  am  so  nervous  at  the 
224 


A  WOMAN   OF   NO   NERVES 

prospect  that  I  feel  as  if  I  should  fly.  Have 
you  any  other  engagement?  We  will  dine 
early,  at  half  after  six  if  you  like,  so  that 
you  may  go  whenever  you  feel  that  you 
must." 

"If  you  really  need  me — "   He  hesitated. 

"  Sit  down  and  wait  for  me  here,"  I  said, 
rushing  out  of  the  room  in  a  distracted  fash- 
ion for  fear  he  might  read  my  tell-tale  face. 

"  Aunt  Ann  !"  I  cried,  bursting  open  her 
door  and  discovering  her  in  a  blue  dressing- 
gown,  doing  her  hair  before  the  mirror. 

She  turned  deliberately.  She  never 
jumped. 

"  Aunt  Ann  !  have  you  a  light-blue  gown 
of  any  kind — anything  thin  and  soft — a — a 
— lawn  ?" 

"  I  have  a  last  summer's  dimity,"  she  said, 
slowly,  letting  her  pretty  hair  fall  in  its  nat- 
ural waves. 

She  went  to  the  closet  and  brought  the 
dress,  holding  it  out  before  her  and  shaking 
its  folds. 

"  It  needs  pressing." 

"  Not  a  bit,"  I  declared.  "  Put  it  on 
quickly.  Never  mind  if  you  catch  your 
p  225 


A   WOMAN   OF   NO   NERVES 

death  -  cold.  It's  worth  it.  And  do  your 
hair  a  little  looser — the  way  I  did  it  for  you. 
What  pretty  arms  you  have !  There  is  a 
man  down-stairs  who  will  be  here  to  dinner. 
He  is  a  nervous  wretch  who  almost  sets  me 
crazy  to  watch  him,  so  if  you  do  any  squeak- 
ing or  creaking,  or  dare  to  touch  a  news- 
paper, or  jingle  your  rings,  you  will  see  me 
go  right  through  the  ceiling.  I  simply  can- 
not stand  it.  You  will  be  a  dear,  and  re- 
member ?  Let  me  pin  that  for  you.  Where 
does  this  blue  ribbon  go  ?  That's  lovely. 
What  a  sweet  old-ivory  color  this  lace  has ! 
Now  you  look  exactly  like  that  portrait  of 
your  mother.  Have  you  a  handkerchief  ? 
There.  Come  on.  Oh,  how  pretty  you 
look !  I  am  sure  Mr.  Dudley  will  admire 
you.  Goodness,  Aunt  Ann,  let  go  my  arm  !" 

"  Who  told  you  his  name  ?"  she  said, 
steadying  herself  by  the  banisters. 

"  Told  me  whose  name  ?"  Then  I  broke 
down.  "  He  is  in  the  library — Mr.  Gilbert 
Dudley.  He  doesn't  know  you  are  here, 
but  he  loves  you — he  has  always  loved  you. 
He  has  been  telling  me  about  it — the  other 
side  of  your  story,  and  you  are  going  to 
226 


A   WOMAN   OF   NO   NERVES 

marry  him  and  be  very  happy.  Aunt  Ann, 
I'll  pinch  you  if  you  faint.  You've  lost  all 
your  color.  Rub  your  cheeks  with  your 
hand.  No,  harder.  Here,  let  me  do  it.  Oh, 
did  that  hurt  you  ?  Well,  never  mind.  You 
look  all  right.  Aren't  you  coming?  Surely 
you're  not  going  to  back  out  now,  after  all 
my  trouble.  Now  go  right  in.  It  will  be 
over  in  a  minute." 

I  got  behind  her  and  almost  pushed  her 
in.  I  could  feel  her  body  tremble.  Aunt 
Ann  trembling ! 

I  heard  an  exclamation — from  him. 

"Ann!"  he  said,  in  a  dazed  way.    "Ann !" 

Then  a  deathly  silence  which  seemed  to 
last  five  minutes.  What  was  the  matter  ? 
Were  they  dead— both  of  them  ? 

I  did  a  dastardly  thing.  I  looked  through 
the  crack  of  the  door.  He  was  standing 
before  her,  holding  both  her  hands  and  look- 
ing down  into  her  eyes  with  such  rapture 
that  his  plain  face  was  beautiful,  and  his 
bent  form  was  straight,  with  a  dignity  which 
it  never  had  worn  before. 

Such  a  look  !  I  turned  away  with  tears 
in  my  eyes. 

227 


A   WOMAN   OF   NO  NERVES 

Twenty  years  ! 

I  put  my  head  in  at  the  dining-room 
door. 

"  Don't  serve  dinner  until  eight  o'clock," 
I  said. 


BY  MARY   E.  WILKINS. 


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An  exceedingly  graphic  and  readable  story. — Rochester 
Herald. 

The  book  is  a  notable  one,  and  has  many  passages  of 
great  brilliancy  and  much  skilful  character  drawing. — 
N.  Y.  Sun. 

The  significance  of  its  motive,  and  the  vivid  way  in 
which  it  grapples  with  the  ultimate  problems  of  human 
existence,  are  enough  to  give  it  a  strong  hold  on  thought- 
ful minds.  .  .  .  The  story  is  a  vivid  record  of  personal 
experience,  and,  given  a  nature  like  that  of  Mrs.  Keith, 
the  consummation  is  entirely  logical.  There  are  many 
passages  of  thrilling  interest,  and,  in  spite  of  the  painful- 
ness  of  the  theme,  the  book  has  a  strange  fascination. — 
Beacon. 

LOVE    LETTERS    OF    A    WORLDLY    WOMAN. 

i6mo,  Cloth,  $r  25. 

•  There  is  abundant  cleverness  in  it.  The  situations  are 
presented  with  skill  and  force,  and  the  letters  are  written 
with  great  dramatic  propriety  and  much  humor. — St.  James 
Gazette,  London. 

AUNT  ANNE.  ANovel.  Post  8 vo,  Cloth,  $i  25. 
There  are  in  fiction  few  characters  more  consistently 
and  powerfully  set  forth  ;  in  its  way  this  piece  of  work  is 
perfection.  The  study  is  so  remarkable  that  it  is  hard  to 
believe  that  it  is  not  from  life. — N.  Y.  Tribune. 


•     NEW   YORK    AND    LONDON 

HARPER  &   BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS 


BY  ANNIE   TRUMBULL  SLOSSON 


DUMB  FOXGLOVE,  and  Other  Stories.  With 
One  Illustration.  Post  8vo,  Cloth,  Orna- 
mental. 

THE  HERESY  OF  MEHETABEL  CLARK.    Small 
i6mo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  75  cents. 
The  only  criticism  that  can  be  made  is  one  of  eulo- 
gism,  first  for  the  perception  of  the   artistic  finish,  and 
next  for  the  pathos,  tenderness,  and  grace  employed  in 
the  illuminating  of  one  great  momentous  truth.     This 
book  of  Annie  Trumbull  Slosson's  ought  to  give  com- 
fort to  many  a  vexed  and  erring  soul.     It  is  a  poem  of 
the  inner  life. — N.  Y.  Times. 

A  charming  little  volume,  quite  unique  in  its  concep- 
tion and  execution,  and  its  ethical  significance  is  no  less 
noteworthy  than  its  art. — Boston  Beacon. 

SEVEN    DREAMERS.     A  Collection   of  Seven 

Stories.    Post  8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $i  25. 

They  are  of  the  best  sort  of  "  dialect  "  stories,  full  of 
humor  and  quaint  conceits.  Gathered  in  a  volume,  with 
a  frontispiece  which  is  a  wonderful  character  sketch,  they 
make  one  of  the  best  contributions  of  the  light  literature 
of  this  season.— Observer,  N.  Y. 

Stories  told  with  much  skill,  tenderness,  and  kindli- 
ness, so  much  so  that  the  reader  is  drawn  powerfully 
towards  the  poor  subjects  of  them,  and  soon  learns  to 
join  the  author  in  looking  behind  their  peculiarities  and 
recognizing  special  spiritual  gifts  in  them. — N.  Y.  Trib- 
une. 

The  sweetness,  the  spiciness,  the  aromatic  taste  of  the 
forest  has  crept  into  these  tales. — Philadelphia  Ledger. 


NEW  YORK   AND  LONDON 

HARPER   &   BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000033124 


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